


Stoutwell - Case #2: Burning Down the House

by Raccoonfg



Series: Stoutwell [2]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Arson, Drama, Gen, Mystery, Original Character-centric, Police Procedural, raccoon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7652149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raccoonfg/pseuds/Raccoonfg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officer Stoutwell, the second raccoon to ever join the ZPD, is still stuck as a filing clerk after the events of his last case. However, he gets a second chance to prove himself when he's presented with a missing mammal case that the ZPD is too busy to handle. And when he finds that there's so much more to it than he realized, he has no other choice than to count on the help of an overenthusiastic citizen he only just met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The fluorescent lights buzzed endlessly like a swarm of lazy bees as they shone their sterile luminescence over the room, reflecting off the dull green concrete walls, tinting the morose koala’s fur with a sickly pallor.

“I’m going to die in here,” Melvin Qantas croaked from the other side of the wired glass window, cradling a black phone handset by his head.

“You don’t know that,” Seth sat on the opposite side, holding his own handset. It had been a while since he last visited his former colleague, and the harshness of prison life was clearly taking its toll on him. The friendly and affable police officer he once knew was now an emotional wreck; the fur around his eyes were wet and matted; his movements were small and trembling. And while he didn’t resemble the mammal he knew, there was still something uncomfortably familiar that weighed on Seth’s mind. “Have you talked to your lawyer about the plea--”

“They’re all dead, Seth,” Qantas cut him off. “The plea is off the table.”

“What?”

“Got the news yesterday. Cherry, the last of them, she, ah…” Qantas’ mouth shifted and yawed wordlessly for a moment, trying to recollect his voice. “She was stabbed by a bunch of prey supremacists over in the female ward.” His eyes darted briefly away from their fixation on the floor to glance at Seth. “During lunch. Apparently.”

“Christ,” Seth rubbed his brow in disbelief. “First Codler, then Maria… There isn’t anything else you could give them? Anything at all?”

No reply came back from the other side; he just sat there in his prison jumpsuit, looking lifeless and lost.

“Well maybe we can get you a better lawyer. Someone from my dad’s parish. If they can convince the court you were coerced--”

“No,” Qantas finally spoke up. “There’s nothing left to try. Just… Just forget about me.” Without another word, he hung up the handset and mouthed to the guard that he was finished with his visitation. Seth just helplessly sat there; watching as Qantas was slowly escorted away and disappeared behind a green metal door.

As he walked back through the prison’s halls the chain of events that followed the drug bust rumbled around in his mind like indigestible thoughts. It had felt like things should have been simpler; Qantas would have given the District Attorney any evidence and testimony necessary to put away Codler and the remaining two sisters, and he’d walk away a free mammal. Sure, his career would have been over, but he’d still get to be with his family.

So how did things go so wrong?

“Excuse me sir, but you need to sign out.”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to see a badger prison guard standing behind a counter, holding up a pen with an impassively dour look on his face. Seth had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he nearly walked past the visitor’s desk without marking his departure in the ledger. Uttering a quick apology, he trotted up to retrieve the pen that was aloofly offered to him and proceeded to sign his name and time of exit next to where he had clocked in earlier. Glancing over the preceding names on the page, he noticed that a Matilda Qantas had visited a few hours earlier.

Melvin’s wife.

Seth sucked on his teeth, now understanding just how shook up the poor koala really was. It must’ve been painful to tell her the news; to say that he may never see their child outside these concrete walls. Handing back the pen, Seth cursed himself internally for coming here and rubbing salt in an open wound with his weak optimism.

It wasn’t fair. Codler should’ve been the one locked away here, not Qantas. Instead they found the coyote dangling in his holding cell, wearing a noose made from his own shirt. It didn’t matter if he did it out of shame or fear; he took the coward’s way out and left Qantas high and dry.

When he finally made his way out the prison doors and stepped back into the open air, he took a long, deep breath, clearing out the stale oxygen that had filled his lungs. To his right was the prison yard, where various mammals in orange jumpsuits casually played catch behind tall wire fencing. In front of him was an expansive parking lot, barely filled with the few cars that the prison staff took to work. Past the desolate blacktop was the sheltered bus stop that he had arrived at earlier. Seth’s visit was cut shorter than he had expected, and there wasn’t any rush to meet the next bus, so he just casually strolled along the path that ran parallel to the gated yard, allowing himself to retreat back to his contemplation as the chatter of the inmates blended together into a white noise of voices. Like oil, the news of Cherry’s death continued to sit on the surface of his thoughts.

Cherry Capek. Last of the Capek sisters.

It was strange. He hadn’t known they were sisters, let alone named Capek, until it came up during a conversation with Detective Atkins a week after the incident at the warehouse. That fateful evening he had crossed paths with them for the first and last time made such an impact on their lives, and yet he barely knew a thing about them. How can you sign someone’s death warrant without even knowing their full name?

Sure, it was easy to say he didn’t kill them personally; that it was Codler who killed Pris, Cherry who killed Maria, and convicts who killed Cherry. But there was still this sour pit in his gut that said the three of them would have been alive today if he didn’t climb that pipe. If he had only walked away and reported his suspicions to Atkins, maybe he wouldn’t have had all this collateral damage weighing on his mind. But maybe Atkins wouldn’t have listened, and Marlon Atria’s murder would have gone unsolved. How could he feel like he did both the right thing and the wrong? Still walking along the fence, Seth shook his head, wondering if this was the sort of Catholic guilt that Father Sekakwa warned him about when he was young.

“Hey Trevor, over here!”

The sound of the name cut through the air, severing Seth from his introspective trance and stopping him dead in his tracks.

Trevor.

It was only a name, but he already felt his stomach turning and his body trembling, just from hearing it.

Trevor.

Seth found himself gripping his left forearm; his paw tightly wrapped around the scar tissue. He knew there was a chance that— No, it must’ve just been a coincidence. Another inmate with the same name. Not him.

Not Trevor.

Air went in and out of his nose in fits as he struggled to face the prison yard. Every fibre of his instincts told him to look away and run, but he had to know, he had to prove that it wasn’t him. That it was some other mammal.

And there he was.

Standing at the far end of the yard, with his back to Seth, was a fox in an orange jumpsuit. His fur was red like fire. Seth could feel those flames burning the bare marks that littered his body. But still he kept his feet firm on the ground, insisting that it was all in his head. Just another fox. Not him.

Not him.

Stoutwell deeply wished it was true, but that hope was all for naught when the fox turned his head. He wasn’t looking in Seth’s direction, but he didn’t have to for him to see his eyes.

His cruel yellow eyes.

They sat in his skull like two amber orbs, and glimmered as he grinned at some joke one of the inmates was telling. His thin black lips peeled back, revealing a row of jagged teeth, and his jaw hinged open, unleashing a burst of piercing laughter. Every little shrill chortle that erupted from his mouth dug deep into Seth, and wrenched out painful memories that tore at his resolve.

Everything was spinning, and he couldn’t take another moment of it. His feet loosened from the concrete path, as if some great magnet finally lost its grip on him, and he dashed as quickly as he could across the parking lot, heading towards the bus stop. Towards an escape.

He was barely halfway there when his legs buckled and wobbled out of control, sending him teetering from side to side like some terrified drunk running for his life. The panic attack was immeasurable; the entire city felt like it was rolling over him, and his insides tumbled with it. His lumbering sprint came to a sudden halt when his shoulder collided with the sign post that marked the bus stop, but the contents of his stomach still stampeded onwards and upwards. Bile and undigested food flooded his mouth and burst out, splattering an indescribable pigment onto the pavement.

He hadn’t experienced an attack this strong in almost a year, and it felt like none of his safety nets could help.

Not his verbal exercises.

Not even his pills.

He just clutched to the post like a crutch, with his tail wrapped around his body and his eyes held tight; trying to wish away this spectre from his past, but instead his prayers were answered by the approaching rumble of a car. His cracked an eye open and saw a taxi idling in front of him; the pig behind the wheel gave him an impatient look.

“Hey buddy, you need to get somewhere, or what?”

Seth loosened his hold on the post and nodded as he wiped the remaining sick from his muzzle with the back of his paw. “Yeah, uh… Riverside station.”

The cabbie seemed to consider it for a moment and then jerked his head to the side, beckoning him over. “Alright, hop in. But don’t think you can go making a mess in my cab, comprende?” The last part was punctuated by an accusatory jab of a hoofed finger.

So Stoutwell did as he was told, and hopped in, not looking back at the prison, content in knowing that it was growing ever more distant from him as the cab drove away, leaving behind a fox that he’d rather not know.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Seth found himself standing on the stoop of a brownstone townhouse, knocking on the door for the second time, hoping to be heard over the loud music that was thumping through the walls and out onto the street. As he waited, he blew hot breath into his cupped paws, trying to stay warm in the cold Tundratown breeze.

Growing impatient, Seth raised his paw to give a third knock, but ended up batting at air, as the door finally swung open, basking him in a cacophony of noise. Holding open the door was a casually dressed brown wolf who didn’t seem to notice Seth standing there. He craned his head left and right before finally looking down to see the raccoon in front of him. The look on the wolf’s face was not very friendly, to say the least.

“H-hey, I’m--”

“Fuck off,” the wolf snarled, and slammed the door in his face. Seth was caught a little off guard by the poor reception and was still sorting out what he should do next, when his ears picked up a muffled conversation on the other side. It wasn’t easy to make it all out, but it sounded like someone asked the wolf who was at the door. He then heard the wolf say something dismissive and specist about raccoons, followed by a sharp, pained yelp. The door suddenly swung back open, this time by a grey wolf in a blue tracksuit.

“Hey! Seth! Kak dela?” The grey wolf had a mile wide grin and reeked of beer. “Yorgi said you were coming. Glad you could make it! Come. Come!” He ushered Seth inside, where other various wolves stood around, drinking and chatting with each other. Seth spotted the brown one among the party guests, looking embarrassed with his tail between his legs and a paw rubbing his sore snout. “Don’t mind Bartosz,” he said with a chuckle. “He’s new, and stupid. Hey, Bartosz, apologize to Seth!”

“Sorry Seth,” Bartosz mumbled.

“Heh. It’s okay,” Seth felt a little sorry for him; nothing worse than being the wolf who gets disciplined in front of the pack. “Hey, uh, Mikhail, where’s Yorgi?” he asked the grey wolf. He rarely visited Yorgi’s place without being immediately scooped up and molested by him, so his absence was unusual.

“Ehh… He’s, how you say, preoccupied at the moment.” As if on cue, a loud, feminine moan came from the second floor. “Speaking of which,” Mikhail guided Seth over to a few wolves who were loitering by the stairs, “Vladek was just telling us about a ewe he hooked up with.”

“Privyet, Seth,” Vladek, a black wolf, greeted Seth; the other members of the group also offered similar welcomes as he joined them. “Now, where’d I leave off..?” Vladek asked himself, taking a drag on a cigarette. “Oh, right. So I’m on my back, and this girl is riding me like no tomorrow. I mean, she was bouncing around like some manic pillow. Wool everywhere.” He took another drag. “And she’s saying all kinds of crazy shit, you know? Stuff like ‘gimmie your big red balloon, baby!’”

“Fuckin’ sweaterbrains,” one of the other wolves chuckled, shaking his head.

“Eh,” Vladek shrugged. “Don’t knock ‘em ‘til you tried ‘em. Anyways, it wasn’t long before I knotted. She felt that good. And when she finally calmed down, she looked right at me, all panting and smiling. Just a hot mess. And that’s when I notice her eyes.” He held a finger at each of his eyes for emphasis. “One still had a lovely, green, round iris, but the other…” He paused for dramatic effect. “The other had a creepy brown rectangle.” Several of the listeners openly shuddered at the mental image. “The girl wore cosmetic contacts, and one of them must’ve popped out when she was riding me. Spooked me so bad I tried to buck her right off my lap. But I couldn’t, you know? I was still tied right inside her, and she doesn’t know what’s going on, so she thinks I’m already going for round two. I’m trying to throw her off, and she’s holding on tight. It was so fucking crazy.”

“So what’d you end up doing about it?”

Vladek smirked and killed off the last bit of his cigarette. “What else? I gave her round two. And three. And four. Last I heard, she still can’t walk a straight line!”

The group burst into laughter, with some of them heartily patting Vladek on the back. Once they settled down and moved on to small talk, Seth broke off from them to get a beer from the kitchen. He was just passing the living room couch when he heard a familiar voice say “Little Bandit, no hellos for your old friend Georg? I’m hurt.”

He stopped and turned to see Georg relaxing on the couch, illuminated in the glow of the nearby television, calmly rolling a joint. Seth wasn’t sure how he missed him when he scanned the room earlier, considering Georg was the solitary cougar in a house full of wolves, but Georg had a knack for blending into a crowd.

“Sorry about that Georg,” Seth apologized, as he ambled over and climbed up onto the couch, taking a seat next to the cougar. “How’s it going?”

“Few complaints, Little Bandit.” He then gave a last lick on his spliff and reached into his rumpled tweed jacket, producing a zippo. “Few complaints. And you?”

“Same as always, I guess,” he shrugged. “Not much excitement in the world of paper-pushing, you know?”

“Still a desk jockey, eh? Don’t worry. Someday your prince will come.”

Seth snorted at Georg’s little wisecrack, and glanced at the TV. The sound was low and inaudible over the loud music, but it wasn’t hard to discern what was being discussed on the news program that was currently broadcasting, thanks to the helpful chyron at the bottom of the screen; ‘Mayor Swinton Discusses TAME Act with Community Leaders’. The video playback showed Zootopia’s porcine mayor shaking paws and hooves with various mammals in suits, and then cut to a close-up interview shot of a well-dressed elephant, with the caption changed to ‘Real Estate Mogul Tom Ivory Speaks in Support of Swinton’.

The news had switched over to a report on an electrical fire at a comedy club called Comics Anonymous, when Georg finally broke the brief silence between them. “I feel there is something else bothering you. Yes?”

Seth exhaled uncomfortably and rubbed his forearm. “Yeah… You know that guy who saved my tail at the drug bust?”

“Officer Koala?”

“Qantas,” Seth corrected him. “But yeah, him. I, ah… I visited him at prison today and- Well…” It was difficult to come out and say it, but he knew he had to get this off his shoulders. “I sorta…. Ran into Trevor.”

“Sokin syn,” Georg cursed bitterly. “What happened?! I swear, if that cyka blyat tried to--”

“Whoa, easy,” Seth raised his paws in an effort to calm his friend down. “He didn’t say or do anything. I don’t think he even knew I was there. It just- It just shook me up to see him again.” And then it occurred to him to add, “Uh, better not mention it to Yorgi. You know how he’d react.” Georg’s little outburst was minor in comparison to the tirade of swearing and thrown bottles that Yorgi would have broken into.

“Of course,” Georg knowingly nodded. “We wouldn’t want him to ruin his own party.”

“Yeah, what is he celebrating anyway?”

“Big things, Little Bandit.” Georg grinned and took a puff of his joint. “Very big. But I’m sure he’ll be dying to tell you. Our Yorgi loves to boast, after all.” Suddenly there was the loud bang of a door being kicked open on the second floor. “Speak of the devil…”

Seth pulled himself up the back cushion of the couch to get a better view of the stairwell, and saw Yorgi strutting down, still pulling a stained tank top over his head. The wolf’s white fur was all messed up; no doubt from rolling around with the lady friend Seth had heard moaning earlier. Almost every guest offered him a handshake or a pat on the back as he passed by them, but it was Mikhail who halted him and leaned in close to whisper something in his ear. A big toothy grin spread across his muzzle as he looked in Seth’s direction with a gleeful twinkle in his eyes.

“Here we go,” Seth sighed in resignation.

“Seth! You came! Hah ha!” Yorgi roared as he dashed across the room and snatched him up into a rough embrace, tousling his fur and vigorously nuzzling against him. Normally Seth would have objected to being treated like some newborn cub, but he knew that when it came to Yorgi’s overzealous affections, there was no stopping him. “Ahh! All my friends are here! I feel so loved!”

“It’s good to see you too,” Seth said, trying not to choke on the strong musk of sex that emanated from the wolf’s fur. “Georg was just telling me you have big news.”

“Oh yes! Very big,” Yorgi said brightly, still cradling Seth like a toddler. “Many good things for us Blizzard Street boys! You’ll be so proud of your big brother--”

“Hey, Yorg?” An aloof female voice piped up from behind them, and Yorgi spun around to face an emaciated she-wolf that stood unevenly by the stairs. “I’m taking off, kay? I gotta work early tomorrow and- Oh.” Her face shifted into a sultry, predatory smile as she slinked over. “Is that little Seth? Mmm… On second thought, maybe I’ll stick around if he wants to play with me.” She stuck out a claw to tickle his chin, but Seth sharply recoiled, avoiding her touch.

“I’m good, thanks,” he flatly rebuffed her.

“Go home, Anka,” Georg grumbled.

“Humph. Fine,” Anka snorted in a disappointed tone and turned to leave. “Bye boys,” she cooed, playfully swishing her tail against the other wolves as she sashayed out of the house.

“I don’t know what you see in that mongrel,” muttered Georg, earning a swat to the back of his head from Yorgi.

“That’s because you have no appreciation for untamed ladies,” Yorgi snapped, placing Seth back down on the couch. “Now make yourself useful and get our little brother something to drink. Seth. You still drink bourbon, yes?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I got you a bottle of Tigr Krovi. Very nice brand from the old country. You’ll like it.”

“I thought Tundrastan was more known for its vodka…”

“They can make other things,” Yorgi objected with a slightly insulted whine. “Tundrastani corn not good enough for you?” He snatched the flask-sized bottle from Georg’s paws and thrust it at Seth. “Here. You try it and tell me it’s no good.”

Seth briefly looked at the label. ‘Tigr Krovi’ was written on it in that unusual Tundran alphabet, and it bore the hallmark of the Tundrastan flag; a yellow tooth and claw crossing each other over a red star. He unscrewed the bottle, sniffed the contents, and took a swig. It was actually not bad at all.

“You see? Never doubt your brothers!” Yorgi crowed.

“Fair enough,” Seth chuckled and tipped some more to his lips. “So, as you were saying?”

“Hm? Oh! Yes! Very exciting. Make room,” he shooed Georg aside and hopped onto an open spot on the couch between them. “Your big brother and his crew have been attracting attention ‘upstairs’, if you know what I mean.”

Seth scrunched up his snout in confusion for a moment before it hit him. “Ohh… When you said ‘big’, you meant ‘BIG’. As in--”

“As in Mister, yes,” Yorgi confirmed with childish joy.

“Yeah… I don’t think I should be hearing this.”

“No, no. It’s all good. Honest.”

“How?” Seth skeptically narrowed his eyes at his friend.

“You know how howler is on the rise?”

“Kinda. Yeah.”

“Well lately it’s starting to pop up in Tundratown. On Big’s turf. And not just that, but some of his protected businesses--”

“You mean racketeering victims,” Seth interjected.

“Potayto, potahto,” Yorgi countered. “Anyway. They’ve been getting hit like never before. Robberies, vandalism, you name it.”

“No one knows who’s behind it, and nobody is talking to Big’s men,” Georg chimed in.

“Let me guess.” Seth had a clearer idea of where this was going. “They’re looking for outside eyes and ears to help track down whoever’s moving in on them.”

“And we just got vetted and accepted by their underbosses,” Yorgi proudly clapped a paw to his chest.

Seth was not as impressed as they had expected. “You’re mob informants.”

“Community watch,” Yorgi corrected him. “Do I have to remind you again about potatoes?”

“Alright, well I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that this ‘community watch’ will also be reporting any police activity in Tundratown too. Am I right?”

Yorgi and Georg exchanged a glace with each other before sheepishly smiling and shrugging at Seth in mock innocence. “Maybe…”

“Yeah. No. I don’t want to hear another peep about it, because I know what’s coming next.”

“What?” Yorgi asked with feigned ignorance.

“You know darn well.”

“Come on.” Yorgi tried to wrap a paw around Seth’s shoulder, but he just squirmed away from the embrace. “There’s no shame in helping your brothers. One paw washes the other, as they say.”

“Yorgi…” Seth growled.

“Think about it. You let us know what you hear; we let you know what we hear. We move up in the family, and you,” he playfully patted Seth on the head, “you become top cop. Sounds pretty good. Yes?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Yorgi held up his paws in defeat and sighed. “Okay. Okay. I’ll drop it.” He gave Seth’s head another pat and raised up from the couch. “But if you ever need your brother’s help, I’ll be happy to give it. Remember that.” And then he walked off to chat with his other guests, while Seth sat there, not sure if he should remain irritated over Yorgi’s scheming, or feel bad that he had turned him down.

“Don’t worry about him, Little Bandit,” Georg said as soon as Yorgi was out of earshot. “He knew you’d say no. After all, he thinks very highly of you.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” Georg replied with a smirk. “And I think maybe me too.”

Seth softly laughed to himself and took another pull on his drink. He had trouble holding the same level of esteem for himself, but it was nice to know that at least his friends did.

Even if they were petty criminals.

 

* * *

 

A couple hours later, Seth had left the party and wandered out into the cold dark night, still carrying the bottle of bourbon that Yorgi gave him. He had only nursed his way through a quarter of it, but he still felt moderately tipsy, so he figured he’d take the long way to the next metro station, just past the Maritimus Bridge, and let himself sober up a little.

Alcohol has a strange effect on one’s mood. Sometimes it helps mammals forget their troubles, or, in Seth’s case, brings them back to the forefront. And not just the things that were bothering him back at the prison, but also what he had been dealing with every day at work since he transferred.

Sure, he had been making new strides in his recovery. He wasn’t ashamed to walk around with his visible scars. He had been getting well acquainted with Nick, something that he never imagined he could do with a fox again; trusting one.

And yet he was still just a filing clerk among cops. He was still viewed as a walking problem by Chief Bogo. He was still stagnating in his career.

And it didn’t feel like that could ever change.

Midway along the bridge, he stopped to lean over the guardrail meant for smaller mammals, and peered into the deep blue water that flowed below. Chunks of ice and snow drifted along with the current, leaving him to wonder where it all came from; where it was going.

Where he was going.

With a heavy sigh, he raised the bourbon to his mouth, and in a moment of carelessness the bottle slipped from his paw, and over the bridge. He instinctively lunged partway over the rail to catch it, but it was too late, and the bottle splashed into the water. He closed his eyes in frustration and cursed under his breath. His bad day just seemed to keep getting worse.

“Oh my gosh! Don’t do it!”

Seth hardly had a second to react to the shrill female voice when he was suddenly tackled by a white and grey blur, knocking him off the rail and onto the cold snow-covered pavement. The impact left him stunned and speechless. He tilted his head forward to see that he was assaulted by a rabbit, who was now clutching at his shirt, ranting hysterically about the preciousness of life, with her face buried into his chest.

“W-what?” Seth finally sputtered through his confusion.

And then she raised her face at him, and he saw her proper in the light of the lamps overhead. She was a white rabbit, with areas of dark ashen fur that covered her ears and surrounded her eyes and mouth. A pair of big round glasses hung low on her twitching nose, and behind those were a pair of brilliant rose-pink eyes, which welled up with tears as she cried out “You have so much to live for!”

“Ohmygawd, Carol!” Another female voice called out from further down the bridge. Seth cocked his head to the side to look past the bunny and saw that a trio of ladies were rushing over.

“Get off of him!” One of the girls, a marmot in a yellow toque, tugged the rabbit by the collar of her coat, yanking her off of Seth.

“We are sooo- SO sorry,” a weasel in a green parka apologized profusely as she tried to help him back to his feet.

“She really hit him hard. Even his wallet fell out,” a possum in a black wool coat observed, picking up Seth’s open wallet from the ground, only to abruptly jump in shock, tossing it in the air like she just realized she was actually holding a snake. “Oh geez! He’s a cop,” she yelped. “Carol just beat up a cop!”

The weasel quickly recovered Seth’s wallet, thrust it into his paws, and then proceeded to zip around him, brushing the snow off his fur and straightening his clothes in a servile panic.

“What were you thinking?!” The marmot was livid; pacing around the rabbit with her paws flailing and gesticulating wildly.

The rabbit seemed to shrink and wilt under her friend’s diatribe, offering only a soft reply of “I was only trying to help,” as her sole excuse for her behavior.

“Honestly,” the marmot grunted, roughly grabbing her friend by the arm to drag her away. “I swear this is the last time I invite you out for drinks…”

The other two girls looked back and forth between Seth and their friends, unsure if it was really okay to just take off like this. After uncomfortably shifting her feet, the possum broke off first, followed by the weasel, who was still chirping sorry over and over as she skittered away, leaving Seth standing there, dumbstruck, with his wallet still clutched between his paws.

“What?” he repeated as he watched them hurry off; taking their circus of confusion with them.

Even when he was sitting in the subway car going home, he was in a daze; unable to process what just transpired on that snowy bridge. It just seemed like such a random and bizarre incident, something to forget and move on from, that he didn’t realize at that time just how important this encounter would be for him. But in the coming days he would grow to appreciate it as a moment he could never forget.

It was the first time he met Carol.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the morning after, and even as he was walking into Precinct One the events of yesterday were still floating about in Seth’s head like tethered boats in a storm. If it wasn’t bad enough that he had to worry about the S.S. Qantas crashing against the rocks and sinking, he also had a mild hangover from the bourbon hindering his already unbalanced sea-legs. And even then, he still had to make his way down the pier to deal with the Z.S.F. My Whole Goddamn Career Is a Crock, which had been taking on water long before the clouds had rolled in.

Not to mention the H.M.S. Who the Hell Tackled Me Last Night.

“Good morning Seth,” a gregarious foghorn bellowed from the other end of the lobby. Normally Seth would have appreciated the bright welcome, but today Clawhauser’s sunny disposition only served to shine obscenely in his face, irritating him like a malicious lighthouse. “You’re certainly Mister Popular today!”

“Eh?” Seth squinted in confusion and slowed his pace as he approached the front desk where the robust cheetah stood. He could only hope that this wasn’t Ben’s way of softening him up for the news that Chief Bogo found some new way of keeping him in line.

“Mm hm!” Clawhauser beamed and nodded eagerly, clearly not noticing the ill grimace on Stoutwell’s face. “You got a call this morning,” he then leaned over his desk and cupped a paw to the side of his mouth, “from a lady who was very interested in you.”

Before waiting for Seth’s reaction, Clawhauser sprung back up to full height and suppressed a giggle behind both paws.

“Is that so..?” Seth could only awkwardly adjust his tie at this unexpected moment of high school level gossiping.

“Uh huh,” Ben flapped his head with a mile-wide grin. “She asked if you were working here.”

“Me? Specifically?”

“Well,” he rolled his eyes and head in unison, “she asked if a raccoon was working here.”

“Oh.” The look of disillusionment was barely masked on Seth’s face.

“Oh! But she was definitely looking for you specifically. She even described you to a tee.”

“Let me guess,” Seth sighed, “black mask, ringed tail, greyish fur?”

“And that navy coat you own,” Ben cheerfully added.

“Well at least it wasn’t all just generalizations…” Seth muttered to himself. “Did she leave a message or a number to call her at?”

“Uh uh, she just asked a lot of questions about you.” Clawhauser immediately caught the concerned look Seth shot him and clarified, “Oh, don’t worry, I would never, ever, give out a fellow officer’s confidential details.”

Stoutwell breathed a sigh of relief.

“Which was a good thing,” Clawhauser continued, “because she only wanted to know what your hobbies were, your favorite food, favorite snacks, if you had any allergies, were diabetic, or if you were gluten-free.”

“Gee, thanks for taking that call,” Seth deadpanned. If Clawhauser was any worse with sharing his likes and dislikes, he’d be the new Muzzlebook.

“Don’t mention it! Oh, wait, one more thing.” 

Against his better judgment, Seth halted his attempt to slip away and avoid further news of his newfound ‘popularity’.

“Yeah?”

“Just before you arrived, there was a delivery-mammal with something big for you. I had it sent up to your office, so it’ll be waiting for you on your desk. No need to thank me, but…” He smiled and wiggled his shoulders, with his tail dancing behind his back. “If you find anything in there that you think a certain helpful friend might like…”

“Uh, sure.” Seth replied, feeling unclear on what this delivery was about. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As much as he was curious about what was waiting for him in his office, Seth decided to take a detour at the precinct’s break room, feeling a desperate need for coffee to face the day. Only a few officers lounging around the canteen offered him mild greetings, as most of them were already engaged in a conversation with McHorn. 

Apparently Bogo had finally made good on his threats of revoking McHorn’s animal control spray privileges, due to him receiving another complaint of dousing a sleeping vagrant without cause. Seth would have felt sorry for him, but he warned the rhino of this outcome weeks ago.

Why McHorn came to his fellow officers for advice if he wasn’t going to take it, Seth would never understand.

After adding several spoonfuls of that terrible non-dairy whitener power that Francine insisted on stocking in the canteen, followed by multiple packets of that aspartame crap she also forced on everyone at the expense of the petty cash, Seth was moderately satisfied enough with his cup of coffee to continue on to his office; better known as Records & Documents.

He was walking into his office with a full mouth of almost-but-not-quite coffee when he saw it sitting there on his desk, all wrapped in plastic, the biggest damn gift basket he ever saw in his life.

Suffice to say, the gulp of coffee did not go down without incident, as he was left coughing and sputtering at the surprise.

“Jeez,” Seth murmured as he unthinkingly wiped his muzzle with his necktie. “Clawhauser wasn’t kidding.”

He would have enjoyed the moment of surprise a little bit longer, but he suddenly realized he just used a piece of his uniform like a napkin. So he hastily spat on his paw and tried to wipe out the stains of caffeine in a fit of desperation, worrying about how he might earn some new demerits from the chief if the brownish spot didn’t come out.

Having cleaned up as much as he could, Seth quickly closed the door to his office and dropped all the blinds that covered the windows that faced into the hallway. He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve such a gift, and it was frankly making him feel a bit guilty, like the time he had peeked at his Christmas presents early when he was ten and put on the most transparent act of surprise for his father a week later.

Seth approached the giant basket with the same level of caution they trained cadets to use when handling suspicious packages before the bomb squad would arrive. Behind the clear cellophane he could see all sorts of treats and trinkets, and tied to the top of the plastic bundle with a big blue ribbon was a printed note-card that read ‘Another Friendly Custom Gift Basket from Friendly Sunshine Greetings (LLC)’ on the cover, and on the flip-slide was Seth’s name and the address of Precinct One.

Satisfied that there was no mistaking that this was for him, Seth went to work with his dexterous paws and unwrapped the package to take stock of the swag inside. Seeing the full contents completely unobscured, he could only whistle in appreciation.

There was a tin of salted cashews, a bag of honey roasted peanuts mixed with honey roasted bees, a trio of those rainbow colored sugar cookies on dowels, small jars of marmalade and jam, sea salt breadsticks that seemed to go with said marmalade and jam, a small bag of gourmet dark roast coffee, a coffee mug that--

“Is this hand painted?” Seth asked out loud as he held it close and scrutinized the stylized picture of a raccoon on the mug. It was wearing an old-timey police uniform and was blowing a whistle while wagging a truncheon. It was a little bit cutesy for his usual tastes, but he had to admit it still carried some charm.

Placing down the mug, he peeked back into the basket to see what else was left of the booty. Among the remaining items was a large white chocolate pretzel that was zig-zagged with a ribbon of dark chocolate. Seth set it aside, figuring Clawhauser might appreciate the sugary treat, and returned his attention back to the last two items; one, a plain white envelope with his name written on it, and the other, an item that really brightened up his day.

“Sardines? Ver~ry nice...” Seth happily grinned at the tin of oily fish and immediately got to work withdrawing the can’s key to peel back the lid. Today was starting to look up.

After sucking back the third piece of fishy goodness, Seth exhaled with satisfaction and picked up the remaining envelope. It was held shut with a little gold sticker of a smiling sun, the hallmark of the Friendly Sunshine Greetings Company. Unclasping the envelope, Seth pulled out a card that bore the same style of hand painted artwork as the mug, this time presenting a scene of a raccoon looking dizzy with a cartoonish bandage on his head; next to him was a rabbit that looked embarrassed, as evidenced by exaggerated sweat drops emitting from its head as it was offering the raccoon a boxed present in apology. Slipping a fourth sardine into his mouth, Seth flipped the card open and read the message within.

‘I’m really, really sorry we had to “run into each other” like that.’

‘I hope that this helps make up for everything, and that it brightens your day a little.’

‘Yours truly,’

“Carol Courser.” Seth read the last line aloud and sat down in his desk chair, staring at the letter ponderously; piecing together the details.

The gift basket came from that rabbit who knocked him off the bridge railing last night, that much was clearly obvious. She must have also been the one who called for him earlier, considering that she used the coat he was wearing to describe him.

But how did she figure what precinct he was at?

Seth was considering the ridiculous possibility that this bunny, Carol, had actually planned to go through every precinct in numeric order until she found him, when there was a knock at his door and Officer Wilde strolled in.

“Hey Stout, what do you call an elderly bear when they lose their denture-- Well, well,” Nick halted his daily groaner the moment he saw the mountain of goodies on Seth’s desk. “Aren’t we Mister Popular today?”

“Appears so.” Seth shyly smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, getting the feeling that this was going to be the phrase of the day. “You, ah, want one of these cookie dowel things?” He asked as he plucked one from where it was embedded in the basket’s bedding.

“Do I want one?” Nick pressed a finger to his muzzle in mock contemplation. “Yes, yes I do.” He then sauntered over to the line of masking tape that bordered the first two thirds of Seth’s office and stretched a paw over the line to accept the treat from Stoutwell, who held it out at a full arm’s length.

Although Seth had grown more accustomed to Nick’s presence since transferring to Precinct One, he still kept the artificial barrier, dubbed the ‘Comfort Zone’ by Nick, in effect, albeit with the acceptable distance shrinking on a weekly basis.

Come the holidays, maybe Seth might even move it into paw-shake range.

Hugs were more of a next year possibility, however.

“You and Judy seem to do that a lot, the question thing, what’s up with that?” 

“Ehh,” Nick shrugged and bit off a piece of the cookie. “It’s sort of an in-joke, really. So what’s with the basket? Bogo isn’t having you file office gifts now, is he?”

“Not yet, thank god,” Seth chuckled and shook his head. “You actually wouldn’t believe it, but I was on the way back from my friend Yorgi’s place and this rabbit comes from out of nowhere and--”

“You in here Nick?” Judy popped her head around the doorway, interrupting Seth.

Given her sense of hearing and speed, Seth was almost certain Judy planned these sort of timely arrivals on purpose.

“Oh wow,” Judy’s eyes widened at the attention-grabbing basket as she walked in. “Well aren’t we Mister Popular today?”

“I already said that,” Nick smirked, nibbling his cookie-on-a-stick. “Try to stay at least two steps behind me, Carrots.”

The teasing remark earned Nick a backhanded slap to his gut from Judy, as she gave him an unamused snort.

“Actually,” Seth piped up as he held out one of the other cookies for Judy, “Clawhauser beat the both of you to that. Just saying.”

“Heh,” Nick playfully nudged Judy. “Figures that you two dorks would think alike.”

Judy shot Nick a withering glare as she accepted Seth’s offering. “You just told me that you said it too. What makes you the exception?”

“Because I’m exceptional.” Nick replied, leaning in close to her with a big smug grin on his face. “By the way, nice ‘wawie-pop’ you got there, Fluff.”

Neither Seth nor Judy noticed it at first, but he had managed to give her the only cookie-on-a-stick out of the trio that was round and shaped like a giant sucker, making her appear more childlike than usual.

“Switch,” Judy grumbled, and Seth quickly swapped it with the remaining cookie, which matched the narrow corkscrew style of Nick’s one.

There were those around the precinct who joked about Nick and Judy acting like a married couple. Seth wasn’t entirely sure about that, but they at least seemed like the cutest domestic disturbance he would probably ever encounter.

“So I heard you went to visit Qantas at prison yesterday,” Judy stared at her snack, contemplating the first bite, “Is he doing okay?”

“Way to change the subject, Hopps. Stout was about to tell me about this rabbit, when you butted in-- Wait, you were at the prison yesterday?” Nick cocked his head at Seth with an uncharacteristic look of concern.

Judy on the other hand, scrunched her nose up at Seth in confusion. “What about a rabbit?”

Seth tried to hide himself behind his mug, drinking some coffee, but it was now both terrible and cold, so he spat it back and set the ZPD mug down next to his new one.

“Okay, first off, yes, I visited Qantas to see how he was doing. He’s fine, by the way.”

No he wasn’t.

“And secondly, as I was explaining to Nick a moment ago, I was coming back from a friend’s last night, and this hysterical rabbit thought I looked like I was going to jump off a bridge for some reason-- No, no I wasn’t.” He raised his paws akimbo in assurance to the brief wide-eyed looks the two partners were giving him. “But she thought I was, so she sorta, well… tackled me.”

Nick nearly choked as he tried to hold back a snicker at that last bit. 

“Anyways,” Seth continued with a deadpan look on his face, passing over the apology card to Nick to have a look. “I guess she must’ve felt bad about it, because I walk in today and she sent me this basket here.”

“Huh. Sounds like something you’d do, Hopps.” Nick wryly stated as he glanced at the card before passing it over to Judy. “Maybe someone you know?”

“Oh please,” Judy groaned as she snatched the card from his paw. “Like every rabbit knows each other-- Oh.” Judy’s eyebrows bounced up in surprise at the message written on the inside “Actually, I do know her.”

“What? Seriously?” Nick’s smirk immediately dropped.

“You know Carol--”

“Courser, yeah,” Judy cut Seth off. “I should’ve recognized her art style on the card, but yeah, we went to high school together. Hung out in drama class, mostly.”

“Oh great,” Nick rolled his eyes. “Another rabbit who knows how to overact a death scene.”

“Actually dying was my specialty, Carol’s was crying on cue.”

“You said she was acting hysterical, Stout? Hope you checked your wallet.”

“Carol wouldn’t be the sort of bunny to rob anyone, Nick.” Judy retorted. But then she tilted her head to the ceiling and tapped her chin with the edge of the card. “Although… What’s she doing in Zootopia? Last I saw her, she was set to get engaged and planned to start a family back in Bunnyburrow.”

“Maybe she was visiting friends?” Seth theorized. “She was out with a couple other ladies last night.”

“No, if she was she’d definitely call me too.”

“Maybe she unfriended you for ditching the burrows to be a big city cop,” Nick joked.

“No,” Judy shook her head, ignoring the obvious sarcasm, and handed the card back to Seth. “If Carol latches onto you, she does not jump ship without a fight. Trust me.”

Eying the pile of snacks on his desk, Seth felt something ominous and worrisome about that last part.

But before he could ask Judy for more details on this supposed barnacle of a bunny, his intercom crackled to life and the voice of Clawhauser came in through the static.

“Um, Officer Stoutwell?”

A proper greeting? Not good.

Seth exchanged a silent glance with Nick and Judy and then leaned over his desk to press the intercom button. “Yes, Officer Clawhauser?”

“There’s a, ah… fox here to see you.”

Seth and Judy immediately turned to Nick, who raised his paws in defense.

“Don’t look at me. I’m standing right here.”

“We- Ah- I will be right down.”

Without another word, the three of them scampered out of Records & Documents and made their way down to the front lobby.

They were still skidding across the polished stone flooring when the scent hit them. For Nick and Judy, it was unfamiliar and understandably unpleasant, but for Seth there was something recognizable about this distinctive odor of garbage and unwashed fur.

By the time they had come around the front desk and saw the fox Clawhauser was struggling to have a polite conversation with while covering his nose with a Gazelle branded handkerchief, Seth’s suspicions were correct.

Standing there in a ratty, old, threadbare coat was Old Red, the homeless fox that once helped Stoutwell on his first, and only, investigation.

“We~ell,” Red’s face lit up the moment he caught sight of Seth. “Good morning, Officer! How are you on this fine morning?”

“Mister Red, ah, g-good morn--” Before Seth could finish his sentence, the old fox was already right in his face, clapping one paw on Seth’s shoulder, and wrapping the other around Seth’s own paw, giving it a vigorous shake. Old Red may have looked worn down and beat up, but he was certainly quicker than Seth expected.

“I am right sorry ‘bout droppin’ in all unannounced like, I really am, but as you may understand it’s a tad bit difficult to make a phone call in my, ah, ‘financial predicament’. Y’hear?”

“S-sure, sure,” Seth struggled to keep himself from completely freaking out at the sudden close contact with a fox, and managed to keep it down to just his tail frizzing out as he carefully pulled himself out of Old Red’s embrace. “Uh, w-what can I d-do for you?”

“Well I do hope I wasn’t interruptin’ nothin’…”

“Not at all,” a deep baritone voice boomed from across the lobby, causing the three officers to wince and turn to see Chief Bogo marching over. “In fact, Officers Hopps and Wilde were about five minute overdue for patrol.”

As he stopped by the small gathering by the front desk, he peered down at Nick and Judy, cocking an eyebrow at the doweled cookies in their paws, which they immediately tucked behind their backs in embarrassment.

“You can finish those in your cruiser. Now get to it.”

Without hesitation, the two officers scampered off in the direction of the motor pool, uttering a quick ‘see you later’ at Seth as they left him at the mercy of Bogo.

“Now, Officer Stoutwell, I believe you also have your own duties to attend to, so if you would be so kind as to say goodbye to Mister--”

“Please, ‘Red’ will do jus’ fine,” Old Red interjected, beaming up at Bogo with his mostly toothless smile. “An’ it’s his duties I am in most dire need of, suh.”

“Is that so?” Bogo’s question came so icily, Seth could almost see the Chief’s breath fog up.

“Yessuh,” Red replied, unfazed by the sudden drop in Bogo’s demeanor. “You see, a friend of mine has gone missin’ recently, an’ since me an’ Officer Stoutwell here, fine young mammal that he is, have ourselves a little history together, I was figurin’ he might be so kind as to help me locate my, ah, absent friend.”

“I see.” Bogo only gave Seth the slightest glance before inhaling and straightening his posture. “Well if it’s a missing mammal case, then it would be better suited for one of our detectives to handle, rather than someone of Officer Stoutwell’s… position.”

In other words, leave it to the professionals, and not the problem-case filing clerk.

Old Red’s affable disposition waned a little at the suggestion, and he gave the raccoon a somewhat disappointed look. “Well, if that’s how it is--”

“Just let the kid take it,” a new, gruff voice chimed in, and this time it was Bogo’s turn to pivot around with everyone else.

Leaning against Clawhauser’s desk, staring down at an open racing form, was one of the ZPD’s senior detectives, the king cheetah Detective Atkins.

Two things ran through Stoutwell’s mind as he took notice of the detective’s sudden and unexpected presence.

First, Atkins might actually be better at this timely arrival game than Judy.

And second, Clawhauser looked really, really fat when standing next to other cheetahs.

“Detective Atkins, I see you’re fashionably late for duty. Again.” Bogo grunted.

“More like right on time, Chief.” Atkins tucked his racing forms under his arm and shot Bogo a most insincere grin. “Anyways, let the kid take it. We’re too busy for a missing mammal case right now.”

“Is that so?” Bogo’s expression started to sour by a minute.

“Mm hm. Missing mammal cases are very, very, time consuming. Even moreso if the mammal is homeless, which I’m assuming is the case. Am I right, Red?”

“Yessuh, that is correct.”

“So time consuming they often take back-seats for higher priorities, which is always a shame, isn’t it, Chief?”

Atkins seemed to be taking some enjoyment from this, but Seth could only squirm uncomfortably at being caught in the middle of whatever issue these two had between them.

“Now, as I’m currently working on that string of vandalisms in Downtown with Otterly, I will have to pass on accepting the case.”

‘Can he do that?’ Seth thought to himself.

“Fine,” Bogo nearly snarled. Seth didn’t even know cape buffaloes could snarl. “I’ll put Fournier on it.”

“Still working on that suspected arson at the bodega on Grass Street.”

“Oats.”

“On that joint taskforce with Lyca from Precinct Seven in Tundratown.”

“Raj.”

“Following a lead on the howler dealings going on in Riverside.”

Bogo was about to open his mouth to say another detective name, but the mockingly expectant look on Atkin’s face cut him short. He could keep naming detectives for the next hour and Atkins would just throw more excuses right back at him, and they all knew it.

“Let the kid take it,” Atkins repeated yet again, unfolding his racing form and returning back to leaning against the front desk. “It’s simple, safe, and gets him out of your horns for a couple days. You have nothing to lose.”

Bogo stared a hole into Atkins for a few moments, and then turned his gaze back to Seth and Red before he snorted in frustration.

“Fine. You have three days to make some progress in this investigation.”

“Actually, I am off duty tomorrow, so…” Stoutwell regretted saying it the moment the words left his mouth.

“Four days,” Bogo grunted, leaning in closer so Seth could feel the heat of his breath billowing out his snout. “Fail to find at least any solid leads, and I will take you off this case and find someone more qualified. Am I clear?”

“Y-yes sir. Thank you sir.” He would have been ecstatic that he was finally being given a legitimate chance at proving himself, but Chief Bogo remained to be the ultimate mood killer.

“It was a pleasure meeting you Mister Red,” Bogo rose back to his full height and placed his hooves behind his back. “I hope that Officer Stoutwell lives up to your expectations.” And with that final passive-aggressive statement, Bogo turned and walked off towards his office.

Stoutwell wasn’t sure how long he had been quietly watching his boss leave the lobby, but it must have been long enough for Red to feel the need to force a cough to bring back his attention.

“Oh, right, sorry Red.” Seth shook his head and turned back to the old fox. “Listen, just head up to my office and I’ll be right with you to get all the details. It’s on the second floor. Records and Documents.”

“Records and Documents… Okay.” Red nodded. He was just starting to make his away towards the elevator when he paused and turned back to Seth. “Thank you, Officer. I truly do appreciate this. Truly.”

“It’s no problem at all, Red.” Seth replied, smiling his crooked little smile, knowing it probably was a problem after all.

“That’s two you owe me,” Atkins quipped, still pouring over his papers.

“W-why did you do that?!” Seth snapped at Atkins, finally feeling now was the right time to lose his cool. Though he didn’t consider Clawhauser’s presence, as he had been uncharacteristically silent this entire time, so unfortunately the rotund cheetah was left edging away uncomfortably at the sudden outburst.

“Because I like getting under the Chief’s hide from time to time,” Atkins drawled nonchalantly. “It keeps things interesting.”

“Aren’t you afraid of him firing you? Or worse?”

“Kid, if you want to survive in this business as long as I have, you gotta do either one of two things. You either get everyone on your side or just enough people in your back pocket.”

Putting two and two together, Seth reared back and gave Atkins a surprised and scrutinizing look.

“So you’re saying that you have something over Chief Bogo?”

Atkins rose back up from the desk and once again tucked away his reading material.

“Him, and others.” He smirked at Stoutwell. “Remember, that’s two you owe me, kid.”

As the detective wandered off, Seth pondered to himself if it would have been worth the bother to point out that he was thirty-one and hardly a ‘kid’, but that seemed like a moot point at the moment, as he now had his first official investigation to worry about.

Oh, and one other thing.

“Sorry about all that, Clawhauser.” He apologized to the chubby receptionist, who was still busy pretending to reorganize his donuts so he wasn’t left standing around like the third wheel that he was. “I, ah, set aside something from that basket like you asked, so if I’m going out on this investigation today, remind me to give it to you before I leave, alright?”

Clawhauser’s whiskers perked up at the promise of a free snack; the previous look of discomfort was completely dropped.

“Ooo! What’d you save me? Something good?”

“Oh yeah, one of those big pretzels.” Seth grinned, feeling rather good about sharing his bounty. “Covered in white chocolate.”

“Oh.” Clawhauser’s face immediately drooped and he returned to his donut sorting, murmuring under his breath “That’s not even real chocolate…”

With his brief sense of well-being through generosity instantly deflated, Seth tsked and skulked away, muttering “I guess you just can’t please everyone.”


	3. Chapter 3

_“--In other news this week, businessmammal and philanthropist Tom Ivory was spotted at the Grand Brayers Opera House’s recent opening of Pigoletto, and had this to say about Mayor Swinton’s TAME Act.”_

_“Frankly it’s for the betterment of society on the whole. Not only does it ensure the safety of the law abiding citizens of Zootopia, but it also affords new opportunities for those who’ve transgressed against their fellow mammal; shorter prison sentences, lower restrictions on where they live; where they work. Is it so wrong to want a safer future for our citizens? I think not.”_

_“However, Abene Saguzahar of the ZCLU has stated that she believes the TAME Act will only ostracize those who are required to wear collars upon their release and make it far more difficult to reintegrate into society after they’ve served their time--”_

“Really makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Huh?” Seth flicked his eyes away from the built-in LCD TV he had been passively watching from the rear seat of the beat-up cab and looked over at the driver. The old skunk had barely said a word since he croaked ‘where to?’ when he picked Seth up at the precinct, so in a strange way Stoutwell had almost forgotten he was there up until now.

“I said it makes you think,” the cabbie repeated in his throaty, four-packs-a-day grumble. “You know, about where this city is headed and all.”

Seth’s mind was a little preoccupied with all that had been going on with his day so far, so the best he could muster was a thoughtless ‘ah’ as the cabbie readjusted his rear view mirror, which was constantly crooked due to the dozen or so air fresheners dangling from it.

“Just figured you’d have an opinion on this collar law,” the skunk shrugged and let go of the mirror; satisfied enough with his futile adjustments, “seeing as you’re a cop and all.”

“Oh, ah, right,” Seth shifted uncomfortably in his seat and instinctively straightened his tie. “To be honest, I voted for Canidae.”

“Me too, buddy. Me too.” The driver grinned and tried to chuckle at their minor solidarity, but it only ended up loosening some phlegm in his throat, which he crudely spat out the open window. “Ch-hek! Ugh. Shame she got robbed at the polls. System’s just rigged against us preds these days.”

Pausing in the act of wiping his mouth on his sleeve, the skunk half turned around to Seth, giving him a wary look.

“Or, ah, ‘herbi’. Whichever you, uh, identify as.” Another quick pause followed before he spat out in clarification “I ain’t one to judge, you know?”

“Omni,” Seth replied.

“Hey, alright,” the driver’s look of concern about making a modern day faux pas quickly washed away as he grinned and turned his full attention back to the road. “Like to keep your options open. I can respect that.”

Seth couldn’t blame him for being edgy about misidentifying where some animals stood on the food chain. Ever since the Bellwether Incident, things had been tenser than ever before between pred and prey, carnies and herbies, padders and hoofers.

Some problems just can’t be fixed by an awareness concert headlined by Gazelle.

Just ask Otis O’Shear.

 

* * *

 

“Take a seat, Red.” Seth waved a paw towards a chair he had in his office for visitors.

“My, oh, my…” Red whistled approvingly as he hobbled over to the open seat. Seth was almost certain that the slight limp in his step wasn’t there when they had last met. However, he noticed the swollen eye Red once had seemed mostly cleared up at least, as both peepers were fully active in taking in a view of Seth’s office. “You done well for yuh’self, Officer. If I do say so.”

“Oh, uh, thanks. Just a filing room, really…”

“Well shoot, it’s still your own room, ain’t it?” Red shot him one of his now familiar dilapidated smiles. “Hyeh hyeh”

“Huh. Never thought of it that way before,” Seth glanced around for a second, taking a moment to consider that he did indeed have a sort of privileged solitude that other officers didn’t get; though he always considered being in the trenches of the mass cubicle offices to be where the action really was. “Well anyway, let’s start from the top.”

Seth withdrew his smart phone from his pocket and queued up the dictation app on it before setting it down on a filing cabinet that stood midway between them.

“So you said it was a friend of yours who’s gone missing?”

“Yessuh,” Red nodded. “My pal Otis. Used to see him all the time, and then a few days ago he gone and vanished. Ain’t seen no hide or hair of him since.”

“And how you knew this Otis, was he, uh…” Seth trailed off, furrowing his brow over the right way to put it.

“On the streets, like Ole Red?” The fox asked for him, and then solemnly bobbed his snout. “Yessuh.”

“R-right.” Stoutwell uncomfortably coughed into his paw before continuing on. “Well, uh, could you describe him for me? Any details I can use?”

“Sure sure. Ole Otis’ is ‘bout forty-eight, forty-nine… ‘Bout this much taller than me,” Red raised his paw far over his head as a rough example. “Though a might bit stocky. Stout fella, if you pardon my expression. Hyeh.”

Stoutwell found himself letting loose a short snicker in response. The little joke was welcome as Seth was feeling a bit tense about screwing up this line of questioning; not to mention Bogo’s looming deadline.

“Anyway,” Red continued, “Hair is all fluffy an’ white, as you may expect from someone like Otis. Though livin’ rough like me has dirtied it up a bit, I suppose…”

‘As you may expect?’ Seth shook his head, like he was trying to reshuffle the facts to make up for something he missed. “Uh, Red, what kind of animal is this Otis?”

“Oh,” Red blinked and reared his head back. “Didn’t I mention, officer? Otis is a sheep. Otis O’Shear.”

“A sheep?”

A look of concern crept over Red’s face. “That a problem?”

“Oh, uh, no, no…” Seth waved a paw, feeling a little self conscious about being so openly surprised. He really wasn’t sure what animal he expected Red’s friend to be, but considering the canids he knew growing up, sheep and other hoofers were rarely regarded as pals to them. It also didn’t help that since the Bellwether Incident most rams on the force were either weeded out as collaborators or resigned due to pressure from a now suspicious climate against them, so he never saw Nick, the only fox he really socialized with these days, associating himself with sheep.

In fact, he was pretty sure the only time Nick mentioned sheep was in his animated telling of the subway caper him and Judy pulled in exposing Bellwether. And that wasn’t exactly a flattering story for the rams involved.

“So, uh, how did you and Mr. O’Shear come to know each other?”

“Well, as things often go in how I make most of my friends, Ole Otis had fallen on some tough times,” Red sighed. “Poor grazer used to be a dentist. Mighty successful one from the way he tol’ me. Course that changed after all that trouble with the last mayor.”

“How so?” Seth cocked his head in confusion.

“Oh, well Otis was a specialist, y’see? Worked solely on pred teeth.” Red peeled back his lips and pointed to one of his few remaining carnassials as an example. “‘Parently there’s a lotta money in drillin’ canines. But that money dried up as soon as folks started hearin’ ‘bout how the mayor and a bunch of other sheep were goin’ aroun’ turnin’ preds all savage like.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see some mammals being worried about visiting any sort of sheep doctors after that.” While he never really had much of an opinion about sheep post-Bellwether, other than the fact that he hated dealing with the rowdier ones he used to encounter in his old bartending job, there was a part of him that could still connect his fox complex with that sort of public paranoia. “So he ended up on the street after losing his practice, huh?”

“Well, the drink got to him first. By the time I met him, the bottle was all he had left.” Red slumped his shoulders and sadly shook his head. “Course that’s how many folks find themselves when they end up in Ole Red’s shoes, an’ I ain’t one to claim I never took comfort in the drink…”

The old fox went silent for a moment, staring at the floor.

Seth was still sorting out what to say to him when Red finally jerked his muzzle back up with a strained smile on display. “Hyeh. Sorry ‘bout ramblin’. Anyway, Otis ended up in my neck’a the woods since there was an outreach nearby. Met him while lining up for soup, offered to show him how to get by out there, and we’ve been pals since then.”

“I see…” Seth rubbed his chin as he mused about how many other animals on the street Red must have taken under his wing. Come to think of it, Seth had to admit that the old fox even aided him when it was needed. “And the last time you saw him, was there anything that stood out?”

“Nothing too strange, I suppose… Otis had been going through a dry spell lately as spare change was getting hard to come by. Made him pretty prickly, but I figured Otis could have used a, how you say, ‘reprieve’ from punishing his poor gut. Then one day…” Red threw up his paws and let them drop to his lap. “One day he didn’t show up at the outreach. I figured maybe he got his hooves on some hooch somehow and was jes’ sleepin’ through meal time, but I couldn’t find him at his usual spot when I came to rustle him up. Then the same thing the next day. And again after that.” Red’s mouth bunched up as concern grew over his face. “Been near a week since me or anyone else in the area seen him, an’ I started to worry.”

“So you came to see me about it.”

“Yessuh. Lucky me, one of my smaller associates was using your callin’ card as a shelter, so I knew where to find you.”

Seth smiled to himself, he had been curious how Red must’ve tracked him down, seeing as he never gave the old fox one of his business cards, but he did however leave one with a couple homeless rats he had also questioned on his last case. Figures that they’d have kept it for a more practical use.

“So other than come to me, have you asked around about him?”

“Uh huh,” Red nodded. “No one else on the street seen much of him since, and naturally the folks at the outreach didn’t know much neither.”

“He mention any family, friends outside the, uh, transient community?”

“Hyeh hyeh,” Red barked. “That’s a funny way of callin’ it. But, uh, no. He’s an only child an’ his folks ain’t aroun’ no more. If he had any other family, he ain’t mentioned them.”

“Okay, well I think that’s everything I’ll need to get started, unless if there’s been anything going on I should know about.”

Red shook his head dismissively. “Nothin’ you ain’t seen in the news.”

“Alright,” Seth turned off the recording on his phone, “if anything else comes up, you still have my card, right?”

Red stuck his paw into one of his coat pockets and produced the warped and torn piece of paper that was Seth’s calling card. “Yessuh.”

“Okay, well don’t hesitate to call me at any time, it has my cell number on it. And here,” Seth too dug into his pocket and retrieved an assortment of coins, “this is for the payphone, or, uh, whatever else you might, you know…”

“Hyeh. I understand, officer,” Red grinned as he scooped up the change from Seth’s open paw. “An’ I thank you kindly for puttin’ yourself out like this. Most folks wouldn’t pay a missin’ wino like him no mind, but…”

“Don’t mention it.” Seth felt that deep down need to go over to Red and give him some comforting gesture; a hug, or a pat on the back, or anything, but that unfaltering fear of his red fur still forced Seth to keep a distance. “Say… I, ah, got this gift basket from a friend today. Would you, I dunno, want anything from it?”

Red tilted his body to the side to peer around Seth at the basket that sat on his desk and looked at it for a while before straightening his poster back to normal.

“Well, as inviting as the offer may be, Ole Red don’t have much of a sweet tooth left in his head. Hyeh,” he grinned. “But, uh… I don’t imagine you would be keepin’ the basket itself, now would ya?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Seth scratched his head, realizing her never really considered the fate of the actual basket. “No, I guess not.”

“Well I do know a family of mice who would be charmed to have something like that to nestle in at night. ‘Specialy if you leave in the shredded paper for beddin’.”

Without another word, Seth quickly removed all the material contents from the basket and handed it off to Old Red. It was a strange little thing, but the look of appreciation on the fox’s face picked up Seth’s spirits far more than all the treats that came in the big woven thing.

“Thank you again, officer.”

“Any time, Red. Any time.”

 

* * *

 

Sitting there in the back of the skunk’s cab, Seth glanced up at the air freshener laden rear-view mirror for what must’ve been the two-dozenth time. All there was to see the first time was the front end of a black SUV, and that was all he ever saw every time that followed.

Probably one of those Zuber cars, he figured. He always heard about how some of them tail regular cabs in the hopes of snatching up their potential fares. Not that it mattered much to him.

If anything, Seth would have preferred driving into the south-western end of Savannah Central on his own, but as fate would have it Precinct One was undergoing a major safety check of all cruisers, vans and parking enforcement vehicles that week, which limited those on the street to essential operations and patrols only; meaning not last minute pet-project investigations like Seth’s.

Fortunately Chief Bogo approved a travel expense for Seth to keep things fair for him, but that still meant he had to be ferried around by colorful characters like his current cabbie.

“So are you on some sort of official business or something?” the skunk croaked inquisitively. “Cause I don’t see why you’d be coming out here just to run a few errands. Or is the pay that bad you gotta live in a dump like this?”

“Oh, well,” Seth rolled around in his head the right way to put it, “I’m just doing a favor for a friend. I guess…”

“That so?” The skunk once again fiddled with his mirror; his chagrined face flashed in the reflection as the many hanging paper pine trees jostled around. “Well I didn’t mean no offense to your pal if he lives here.”

The cabbie wasn’t wrong, really. As Seth peered over the bottom of his door window, he could see that while the area was pretty rough looking when he last visited it at night, the warts and blemishes of the neighbourhood really stood out during the daytime.

It actually seemed like things had gotten worse here since he investigated the death of Marlon Atria months ago, with several businesses now closed, and a few building facades burnt out and heavily vandalized.

A few moments of awkward silence passed before the cabbie resumed making small talk. “They’re gonna be gentrifying the whole area anyways, you know?”

Seth didn’t really respond, he was too busy watching the alleys pass by, wondering if he’d just happen to spot Otis in one of them.

And if so, what state would he be in? Laying on his back in a drunken stupor, or face-down and barely breathing?

“S’true, heard it through a friend of a friend,” Seth’s driver pressed on, undaunted by his passenger’s silence. “Some major real estate developers are snatching up blocks left and right around the district. Soon everything you see here will be replaced with condos and chain stores.”

Not looking away from the window, Seth finally spoke up. “Will that be a bad thing?”

The skunk shifted his head and shoulders about in a half-hearted shrug of uncertainty. “Well… Not for those who can afford it.”

Seth spotted a lion and a couple wolves huddled together under the awning of a shuttered storefront, looking like they didn’t own much more than what they were wearing. They didn’t seem like the sort who’d fit in with this new vision for the neighbourhood.

“But anyway, march of progress, you know? What’re you gonna do about it? Ch-hek!” He spat another mouthful of phlegm out the window. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d been doing this routinely during the entire ride, Seth would have guessed the skunk meant it as a gesture of distain for the whole thing.

Another break in the cabbie’s rambling ensued, leaving Seth to continue quietly observing the passing scenery. Around when he noticed what might have been a striped hyena selling a rather illegal looking baggie of unidentified contents to a sketchy squirrel, the driver’s voice once again rose up in its guttural growl.

“Honestly, the thing I’m not looking forward to are all the millennials having me drive them out here so they can hit the gastronomic, micro-fusion, yadda yadda restaurants, and they’ll ask for the neighbourhood by the new name all the property owners want to give it to make the place seem more modern,” he grumbled. “I mean, it was bad enough when they started calling the docks south of Lions Gate ‘SoLiG’, but can you get anymore pretentious than ‘HapTon’?”

Before Seth could even think of anything to say to that, the cab suddenly jerked to a halt, nearly tossing him off the seat. Without missing a beat, the cabbie jabbed a clawed finger into the meter’s stop button, halting the running fare.

“Alright buddy, here we are. Ch-hek!”

Scooping his fallen cap off the cab’s floor, he tossed the skunk a few bills and told him to keep the change before hopping out of the car.

No sooner than his paws hit the pavement did the cab rumble off, taking the stink of artificial pine with it. The black Zuber soon followed along, apparently still looking to cut in on the skunk’s next fare.

At first the open air felt so much fresher than the fake stale scents of the cab, but soon the stink of garbage and wet fur began to assault his senses. The distant noise of arguing mammals mixed with some indescribable foreign sounding music coming from a local convenience store. Echoing over that was the chattering of a dozen talking heads, babbling about on several radios and TV sets in the nearby tenements.

It was odd, standing out there on the sidewalk, in the middle of a neighborhood that the rest of Zootopia was declaring dead, only to be bombarded with so many signs of life. Seth could only hope that this was a sign that Otis O’Shear would be found alive as well.

So it was in the din of breaking glass and howling wolves that Officer Stoutwell fixed his cap back on top of his head, and started walking down the street, preparing himself for a long day of searching through the grit and grime this neighbourhood had in store for him.

Welcome to Happytown.


	4. Chapter 4

Keeping the City Clean.

Putting Crime in “The Pen”.

Hooves You Can Trust.

The election was done and over with months ago, but Mayor Swinton’s campaign posters still lined the plywood barrier like some faded checkerboard mural; an alternating zig-zig of bite-sized slogans overshadowed by the big, bold words of ‘VOTE SWINTON’.

Seth compulsively reached up and dragged his paw over the lower half of the bureaucratic wallpaper, feeling the bumps and creases. Despite the scaffolding that loomed overhead, the posters were not safe from the elements since being pasted up, leaving Swinton’s message to the public warped and cracked; reluctantly stripping away and exposing a piece of the construction firm’s logo hidden behind it.

He grasped a loose tear in the paper between his claws and considered peeling it away, exhuming the blue painted wall buried underneath, but after a moment of rubbing the pads of his paw over the stiffened paper he let it loose and continued walking along the sidewalk.

No sense in removing old bills. That was a job for a bylaw officer.

As he ambled along the boarded-up building lot he spotted an open gap around his eye level, a viewing panel for mammals his height. When he was young he would relish finding these at new building sites, sometimes scampering up to the ones cut for taller animals, just to satisfy his curiosity of what was going on behind those wooden barriers. But now he felt no need, as he had already passed three other sites just like this one since he started his tour of Happytown. Each one a lonely grave of stripped concrete. Pock mark reminders of the buildings that once stood there.

“The march of progress,” Seth muttered aloud.

It was probably the only sort of progress being made in the dreary neighborhood as Seth had been pounding pavement for nearly two hours and made next to no headway into his investigation. All he had to show for the legwork was a series of shaking heads.

No photograph, no address, no list of known associates. Seth had come to the realization early on how insurmountable it was to find someone in Zootopia with only a name and species at his disposal.

Fortunately for him there was at least one spot he knew he could give a shot, and if Zoogle Maps was working right on his phone, it wasn’t very far off from the block he was on.

After passing by a few barred-up storefronts - the usual suspects of pawn shops, money marts, bucks-for-gold traders and one grimy looking pharmacy that advertised an on-site twenty-four hour nepetalactone clinic - Seth found himself standing by the steps of an orange and white building. The exterior was utilitarian and worn out like the rest of the block, but lacked any of the unwelcoming security measures displayed by the neighbors. Above the metal double-doors hung a basic white acrylic sign that read ‘Happytown Outreach Center’.

As he placed his paw on one of the lower door handles, Seth paused and cautiously swiveled his head to the side. Somewhere deep in his primal instincts he could feel himself being watched, making his tail swish nervously, but all he spotted in the area was a few scattered vagrants milling around, most likely passing the time until the next meal service began. Nothing out of the ordinary.

With a shrug, he pulled the door open and stepped inside, figuring that whoever had been gawking at him was probably just curious about what a police officer was doing here.

The interior was a sort of jury-rigged mess hall, cobbled out of dozens of mismatched tables and chairs lined up in rows, with poorly maintained florescent lights hanging overhead, illuminating the large room in a stained yellow hue. Off towards the opposite end was a small gathering of what looked to be volunteers who were rummaging through boxes of cans and dry goods, sorting them into piles.

“Uh, excuse me,” Seth leaned forward, luring his voice out a little to catch the attention of the diligently engrossed staff. When there was no reaction from them, he began to shuffle forward, again calling out “excuse me.”

One of the larger mammals of the group, a slovenly dressed boar, glanced over at Seth and squinted at him for a second before returning his attention to the donations.

“Yes, uh, sorry, hello?” He raised his voice a little bit more as he inched midway down the length of the room, and still he was mostly ignored by everyone. Even by a frumpy looking rabbit who Seth figured would have at least noticed him before the boar.

Eying one of the tables up ahead, Seth picked up the pace and snatched a single heavy book that laid on top.

Holding the weathered book in his paws, he only briefly glanced at the faded gold title embossed into the black textured cover, ‘The Book of Frith’, before flinging it to the dingy linoleum tiled floor, filling the room with a hollow thump.

It was a literal old school trick, but it certainly did the job as everyone immediately stopped what they were doing to goggle at the source of the noise.

That is, all except for the rabbit, who continued quietly sorting until one of her co-workers gently nudged her, prompting the rabbit to yank off a set of ear buds before looking over at Seth in embarrassment.

“Erm, s-sorry officer,” the rabbit apologized in a near inaudibly soft voice. “How- Ah- How can we help you?”

“Officer Hexley already confirmed my hours for this week, if that’s what you’re here about,” grumbled the boar.

“What? No. I’m--”

The rabbit lightly gasped in her tiny hushed voice. “W-was there a noise complaint again?”

“Actually I just--”

“Dude,” drawled a bleary-eyed porcupine who had been meticulously stacking his share of cans into a pyramid. “Is this, like, a bust or somethin’?” The triangular stack tumbled over as he brought a paw up to fiddle with his quills, which were tied up in bunches with various colors of yarn. “’Cause if it is, whatever’s in my bag ain’t mine.”

“No,” Seth curtly snapped. “No, this isn’t a bust.”

“Right on.” The porcupine bucked his head in a reverse nod as he curled his lips up into a lazy smile and nudged the boar with his elbow. “Who says the filth doesn’t do you any favors? Am I right?”

The boar gave his co-worker a lazy glare and dismissively snorted at him before swinging his disinterested gaze back to Seth. “Listen, if you’re not here about my community service or to shake down this burnout, can you just get to the point so we can finish this job sometime today?”

“Right,” Seth huffed, trying his best to stifle his irritation behind a row of tightly gritted teeth. “I’m Officer Stoutwell with the ZPD and I’m investigating a missing mammal report, and this place was one of his last known whereabouts, so I would like to know if any of you may know him or have seen him recently.” Pausing for a moment to let the situation sink in for the crowd, Seth continued on. “Otis O’Shear. Male. Sheep. Late forties. May have been seen with a fox who goes by the name Old Red.”

The silence that followed hung awkwardly as everyone just stared back at Seth, blinking.

“Is that all?” The boar finally replied; his voice took on the indignantly disappointed tone of someone just found out that the prize behind door number one was a crummy coupon book and half a sandwich.

Once again, Seth was getting the feeling he was fishing with a rod and no string.

“Well, uh… Yeah.”

“Nope,” the board grunted and immediately returned his attention to sorting food. “I’m just here to serve my hours, not to make friends with bums.”

“Sorry brah,” the porcupine shrugged with his paws open and raised apologetically. “I just work the kitchen.”

“Me too,” the rabbit murmured like the shrinking violet that she was, before whispering a meager “sorry.”

Seth’s head drooped unevenly into his shoulders as his neck deflated along with his hopes for a new lead in the case.

Just another dead end.

As he rubbed his brow under the sweatband of his cap, Seth started to turn back towards the entrance to leave.

“Yeeaahh… Yeah, I think so?” A nasal, feminine voice stopped Seth in his tracks and he turned back to the table to now notice there was also a small mole who’s head and arms barely raised over the counter-top. “You see a lotta animals when the kitchen is open, ya’ know?” Her head tilted slightly with the unsure inflection “But, ahhh… Yeah? Yeah, I think I used to see a sheep come around now and then. …Or was it a ram?”

“Rams are sheep,” grunted the surly boar.

“They are? But don’t rams, ya’ know, need horns and stuff?” The mole angled her head in vacant contemplation before turning back to Seth. “Were you looking for someone with horns?”

“Well, I--”

“Ram’s don’t need to have horns to be rams, they’re just male sheep,” the boar injected, cutting off Seth’s reply. He then dumped an armload of cans in front of the mole in an unsubtle gesture to get back to work.

“Oooh…” The mole slowly nodded her head and started shifting the batch of cans into poorly organized piles. “Well I guess I saw your ram then?” She shrugged, adding “Dunno if he had horns or not. You see a lotta animals when the kitchen is open, ya’ know?”

“So I’ve heard…” Feeling the anticipation of maybe getting somewhere, Seth had retrieved his phone to tap in some notes. “So, uh, when was the last you saw him?”

“Umm…” She pinched her lips together as she hummed over the question. “I guess… A week ago? …Maybe three?”

“Uh huh…” The time frame was a bit earlier than Otis’ disappearance, but still, it was a start. “And, ah, do you recall anything unusual about how he acted?”

“Hmm…” Again her muzzle scrunched up and the cogs of her brain made whirring noises through her mouth. “Yeah… Yeah, one time he was stumbling all over the place and got sick in the garbage over there.” She then jabbed a claw towards a trash can far beyond Seth’s right shoulder.

Seth glanced over at the rusty can and turned back to tapping her statement onto his screen. “I see... And that was the last time you saw him?”

“Uh uh,” the mole shook her head. “I saw him a few times after. It was two months ago he threw up in the trash.”

“So you’re saying in the past two months you didn’t see anything odd?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing that stood out in the last week?”

“Or three weeks ago,” she noted. “…Maybe. …It’s hard to tell. You see a lotta animals when--”

“When the kitchen is open. Right.”

He didn’t exactly hear it, but Seth was almost certain the boar was sniggering at the circles the mole was putting him through. Unenthusiastically, Seth turned off his phone without having saved any of her testimony.

“So you’ve seen him, but aside from him vomiting in the garbage two months ago, his presence up until a week ago - or three - was unremarkable. Is that correct?”

“Mm hm,” she answered with a smiling nod; possibly looking the most certain she ever had in her life.

“Super.” The exasperation in his tone was poorly masked, as it seeped out into his body language, spreading across his face like a sullen shadow.

If he had learned anything from this encounter, it was that not everyone who volunteers to help can be counted on to be helpful.

 

* * *

 

He could feel it again.

Standing back outside of the outreach center, Seth’s hackles twitched and shivered as he felt someone nearby watching him. In his usual nervous tick he lightly rubbed his left forearm while his eyes fruitlessly scanned the area to root out the source of his unease.

Was it the near encounter with Trevor the other day that was putting him on edge?

Seth wanted to doubt it, but the absent fussing with the scar tissue along his arm made it hard to discount the thought entirely.

However, it was almost as soon as the feeling of being watched had passed that he noticed one of the lingering groups of destitute mammals glance his way.

“Hm,” Seth contemplatively hummed to himself. “Might as well reach out to the community while I’m here…”

A couple of the larger vagrants took immediate notice of Seth’s approach towards the shuttered stoop that they were all congregating around and began to shuffle away, clearly anticipating a call for dispersal. He would have hollered for them to stop and stick around, but considering that an approaching cop shouting ‘halt’ usually meant you were in trouble, he had an inkling that he’d end up scaring off the whole lot of them. Best to allow a couple mangy wolves to take off and focus on the stragglers.

“Ah, pardon me fellas.” Seth tried to put a friendly tone into his greeting, but he was only a few words in and he already felt embarrassed by his own hokeyness.

A goat that was lazily gnawing on a scrap of shoe-leather stopped with his jaw in mid-twist and stared blankly at Seth while the smaller rodents who sat around him exchanged glances.

“Erm, sorry to bother you all, but I just have a few questions to ask and I’ll be on my way--”

“So he roped you into this after all, huh?” a tiny voice snarked from below. Seth dipped his snout down towards it and spotted a shrewd-eyed rat frowning back up at him with her paws planted firmly on her hips.

“Uh, s-sorry--”

“You don’t even remember me, do you?” she quickly snapped at him. “Typical. I’ll bet you even blanked on that poor old fox when he went to all that trouble going to see you.”

“Deirdre, please…” Another rat approached her and pleadingly tugged at her arm, but this ‘Deirdre’ still maintained her scowling umbrage.

It was when Seth noticed the shabby touque on the second rat’s head that he recognized the two of them.

“Wait a second, I know you two.” He then nodded to Deirdre’s male companion. “You were the one who pointed me towards Old Red last time I was out here.”

“Well what do you know, Connor,” Deirdre grumbled as she jerked her arm loose from her friend’s grasp, “you made an impression on him after all.”

“I, uh, guess so,” Connor gave his emptied paw a flick and looked at her warily before angling a half-smile back up at Seth. “Um, thanks for those business cards you gave us. Made a decent lean-to with them.”

“Oh, well- You’re welcome?” Red’s earlier mention of how he got Seth’s card suddenly came to mind, leading him to realize that it wasn’t just the one card being used as part of a shelter; all of the cards he gave out that night were put to use that way.

Still, better then being tossed away, he supposed.

“So I guess you both already know what I’m here about, huh?”

“Red’s friend?” Connor asked while Deirdre shook her head.

“We know as much as you do. If you actually listened to the old fox, that is.” Deirdre then jabbed a finger over her shoulder and added “And Gummer here knows even less.”

Seth’s eyes followed her gesture and found himself locking eyes with the goat on the stoop. Wordlessly, the wide-eyed ungulate pulled the soggy piece of leather from his mouth and peeled back his lips into a wet grin, exposing his fleshy dental plate, to which Seth weakly returned his own uncomfortable smile.

“So there’s really not much to add, huh?”

“Sorry Officer,” Connor shrugged, “but Otis didn’t really associate much with anyone other than Old Red.”

“Thought he was better than the rest of us…” Deirdre muttered.

“Not exactly,” Connor noted, giving his friend a sideways grimace. “You see, sometimes when folks end up in our situation, they think that, well…”

“That it’s only temporary?” Otis used to be a successful dentist, only made sense to Seth that someone like him was just waiting to pick up where he left off; newfound drinking habit or not.

“There is no ‘temporary’ for animals that end up on the streets of Happytown,” Deirdre sighed, “It’s all downhill from here.”

Considering how standoffish and venomous the little rat had acted towards Seth since he first met her, it was rather unexpected to see her appearing even just a little bit melancholic as she did now. It occurred to him that maybe if the two of them held some common ground and understood each other a little better, then Deirdre could possibly drop the cynicism and see that he was only there to help.

“So are you gonna quit now, or are you going to wait until after your lunch break?”

That thought was short lived.

“No,” Seth rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No, I think I’m going to stick with it.”

“Your funeral,” Deirdre grunted and patted Connor on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get out of here and let him count sand on the beach.”

“O-oh, uh… R-right.” Connor shifted a conflicted face between Seth and his friend before following her lead.

Counting sand on the beach.

It was odd hearing someone outside the church in his old neighborhood use that sort of idiom, but it was certainly an apt one. The homeless of Zootopia were, after all, an invisible minority to rest of the population; something to ignore and forget as you passed them by on your way to work or when heading back home at the end of the day. Even the volunteer workers who dedicated their time to making the lives of the impoverished a little bit bearable barely remembered those they helped, including Otis.

Especially Otis, who made no real impression on anyone where he ate, alienated himself from his fellow have-nots, and made only one friend in the entire area. And even with that single friend he still managed to disappear without a trace, like a solitary grain of sand blown away from a tallied pile.

It seemed overwhelming, but was it really hopeless?

Surely there was someone - anyone - who interacted with Otis as much as Red did. At least enough to make some kind of mark.

A soft mushy chewing noise yanked Seth out of the trance of his sober contemplation and he turned to see that ‘Gummer’ had resumed nibbling on his leather scrap; pausing only for a second to cock a floppy ear in the air and blink out of sequence at the sudden sharp noise of rattling glass.

Just a short distance away was one of the wolves who had previously eluded Seth’s interview; now returned to the scene to rummage through a curb-side bin for empty bottles that he noisily stuffed into a plastic shopping bag that was already filled to the brim with former containers of beer and spirits.

And it was in this abrupt clattering of recyclables that Seth was struck with an idea for one last possible lead on this case.

“Hey, ah, guys,” he called out at the departing rats, “where would you go to get a drink around here?”


	5. Chapter 5

_“Everyone is tuning in to Zootopia’s number one destination for tears and laughter, and that’s ZTV’s Friday night ‘must-see-tv’ lineup!”_

_“It all starts at eight with a brand new Shorty Squad! When Percy is forced to crash with Hugh, things quickly turn into a ‘clash of the clean’ between this persnickety polecat and sloven skunk.”_

_“After that is an all-new Hey Beaver! Beaver joins the otters for a day at the pool, only to get all steamed up when they find themselves locked in the change room.”_

_“And then finally the episode you’ve all been waiting for. On a very special Pack Street, one of your favorite characters WILL - GO - SAVAGE.”_

_“Television you don’t wanna miss! This Friday on ZTV!”_

While the fatuous voices prattled on from their single speaker refuge within the old CRT TV that sat on a nearby counter, Seth eyed the vast rows of clear and tinted bottles that lined the numerous shelves of the shop.

Captain Mongoose, Pawtrón, Yak Daniels… These were all names he had once been closely acquainted with back in his bartending days. Many of them he could even pick out just by the barest hints of their labels.

Kaninprinsen, for example, was easy to spot by its orange and green foil wrapping. The mere glimpse of it brought him to chuckle out of nostalgia; it was the only brand of carrot vodka Castor was willing to carry in his bar. ‘We don’t get enough rabbits in here,’ he’d say, ‘a couple bottles of this mid-range crap and we’ll be good for the next year.’

Shuffling through the towering aisles of glass, Seth smiled as he glanced over these alleys lined with old friends and comrades in mixology. But when he reached the end of memory lane his heart sank at the sight of a new face from last night.

Seth had wondered why he never saw it among Castor’s selections before, and now seeing its brothers lined up at eye level, each brandishing the red star of Tundrastan, he knew why.

“Jesus, Yorgi,” Seth groaned while he winced at the premium price tags on the bottles of Tigr Krovi, “you really went all out.” He could almost feel his morning hangover making a relapse at the recollection of how much of that bottle had ended up plunging into the cold Tundratown river.

“Yes... Yes, I understand, but- …No. …No. …No- No thank you.” From behind the front counter there was a rustling of beads and an exasperated voice projected over the vapid droning of the TV set. Seth craned his head around and saw a casually dressed panda slowly wandering over the cash register while engaged in what sounded like an unwelcome conversation on his cordless phone. “…Yes- Yes I’m sure! Good- Goodbye!”

The phone beeped as he roughly hung up and tossed it aside, sending it clattering against the TV, momentarily jostling the picture with a brief wave of static. All the while, Seth quietly approached the counter, looking up at the shopkeeper as he took a deep breath and slumped over the counter.

“Ugh. Aiya…” groaned the panda, closing his eyes like the conversation sapped all of his strength to the point of exhaustion.

Seth could sympathize with him; he really could. But daylight was burning.

“Ahem.”

The shopkeeper opened one eye, and then the other, and after finding no one standing there at eye level, he tilted his head over the counter ledge and spotted Seth looking back up at him, flashing a self-conscious smile.

“Oh! Sorry about that sir- ah- officer,” the panda apologized with wide-eyed embarrassment, straightening himself up like a teacher caught him napping in class. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Seth waved his paw reassuringly. “I was just browsing while you were, ah, occupied.”

The panda rolled his eyes and shook his head with a rough grunt. “Real estate people. They’re always calling! And when they’re not calling it’s letter after letter- Tā māde…”

Seth wasn’t entirely sure what that last part meant, but he had enough experience in learning curse words through osmosis to have an inkling. “Pretty aggressive, huh?”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” he chuckled bitterly. “Anyways, what can I do for you today? We have a special on Grey Moose. Oh, and on Tapir’s Mark; if you’re a bourbon fan- Ah, what am I saying, you’re a cop, of course you are!”

Seth gave a good-natured snort and waved his paws, warding off the sales pitch. “Heh, no, nothing like that today. I’m here on official business actually.”

“Oh? That so?” The panda’s friendly smile shifted into a more serious demeanor and he arched his head further over the counter, resting his forearms on the edge. “Anything concerning me?”

“Uh, not quite,” Seth replied in a careful tone. “I’m more here about a customer- Possible customer. Ah… Have you ever served a ram by the name of Otis O’Shear--”

With a loud and pronounced sigh, the shopkeeper’s entire body went slack as he rolled his head and eyes in an overblown look of relief.

“Sheesh! You had me worried there, officer.” He pressed a paw to his brow and shook his head. “Thought maybe my idiot son went and sold beer to students again. Ugh.” With another heavy exhale he pushed himself back up from the counter. “But yes, I know that bum you’re talking about.”

“Y-you do?” Seth’s ears perked up and his tail gave an excited swish.

Finally.

“Yeah, he comes in every couple days and buys whatever’s cheap,” the panda grunted. “Most times he paid in coins. All coins.” His lids went heavy as he shot Seth a contemptuous look. “You ever see how much change it takes to buy a bottle of gin?”

“Can’t say I have, Mr- Ah..?”

“Oh. Li. Shu Li,” he replied, extending his meaty paw down to Seth.

Never one to go for the old cliché of taking a larger mammal by the digit, Seth offered his own paw into Shu Li’s grasp. The following pawshake was gentle enough, but Seth still felt his feet leave the ground ever briefly during the exchange.

“Officer Stoutwell,” Seth stated back in return. “So Otis was kind of a regular then? Do you happen to recall him coming in this past week?”

“That recent?” Shu Li paused for a moment and then shook his head. “No, not that I recall. Last I saw him was maybe two weeks or so. Nearly kicked him out for trying to pay with three rusty cans full of pennies. He in some kind of trouble?”

“Missing, actually. Say, you mentioned your, uh, son works the counter too?”

“Now and then,” Shu Li snorted. “Might as well make himself useful if he’s out of school.”

“Right… Any chance he’s around? Just in case he saw Otis too.”

“Sure, sure.” Shu pushed himself away from the counter and tilted his head towards the beaded entrance to the back room. “Hey,” he barked, “Féi jiǎozi! Get in here!”

“Wha~at,” came a petulant reply from beyond the flimsy barrier. “I’m busy!”

“Busy getting fat,” Shu threw back at him. “Do as you’re told!”

As another infantile moan protested from the back room, Seth flattened his ears to his head, trying to muffle out as much of the uncomfortable squabble as he could.

“Right now! Or I’ll drag you out myself! Lǎn dàn!”

“Fi~ine…”

Huffing out a short and heavy breath, Shu squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a brief moment before spinning right back to Seth. His face sprung back into the affable manner her had greeted him with earlier, albeit a touch more forced this time.

“He’ll be a moment,” Shu assured Seth in a tightly wound tone.

Thanking his good fortune for not sharing a similar relationship with his own father, Seth only nodded back with his own smiling façade tautly stretched across his muzzle.

“Say,” Shu chuckled, easing the look of chagrin on his face, “about these real estate clowns, any chance I can get a- you know- restraining order? Or something?”

“Well I’m not really--”

“It’s just that there’s so many of them,” groaned the panda. “Rackabore & Sons. The Crocotta Group,” he droned, tapping a digit on his paw for each name, “Wolper, Skvader & Tinger. Cigau Investments… There were a couple others who took ‘no’ for an answer early on, but these guys- Wǒ de tiān a!”

“Huh.” Seth recoiled at the sizable laundry list of company names. “That’s a lot of interest for just one store.”

“Store? Heh. Try building.” Grinning, Shu waved his broad paw, swooping it across the shop and up towards the ceiling. “My father, Shu Li senior, bought this lot back when the Happy Town development project was in full swing.”

“That so?”

“Mm hm,” Shu proudly nodded. “My father always wanted to own two things in life; his own restaurant, and a home for his family. Figured he’d kill two birds with one stone by just buying up this small property when the city made it so cheap. He got his cramp little diner, and we got the cramp little apartment above it.”

“Wait,” Seth smirked incredulously as he re-surveyed his surroundings, “this place was a diner?”

“Oh sure.” He raised his paws dramatically and pronounced “Eat! Shu! Li’s!” shaking his paws with each word; a mirthful, nostalgic look was on his face. “Heh. Not very imaginative, but that’s my old man for you. Anyway, he managed to scrape by until he got too old to cook anymore and turned the business over to me. By then the neighborhood was changing… Less customers were coming in… And all that was still selling--”

“Was the booze.”

Shu pointed a clawed finger at Seth and clicked his tongue. “Bingo. Hahh… You should have seen the mist in his eyes the day I told him I sold off his old griddle…”

At that moment the messy clattering of beads riled up again, and a portly panda shuffled out; his snout buried in the bright glow of a smartphone.

“Make it quick,” Shu’s son muttered while his bleary eyes remained fixated on the tiny screen cradled in his paws, oblivious to the fact that nearly half the doorway’s flimsy barrier was still hanging over his shoulders like oversized rosaries. “I have dailies.”

“You have ‘dailies’,” Shu repeated disdainfully. “If only you were as serious about this store as you were about those stupid games!”

“Da~ad!”

Stomping his foot like a twenty-something toddler, Shu’s son finally tore himself away from the phone and looked like he was about to continue his ineffectual pouting only to freeze and go wide-eyed at the sudden notice of Seth standing below him.

A pregnant pause followed as the young panda darted his gaze between his father and Stoutwell like he was caught between two oncoming cars until he eventually blurted “I swear their IDs said they were twenty-one.”

Shu dragged his paw down his cheek in frustration while Seth tried his best to not burst out laughing.

“Ehm, no…” Seth tugged at his tie, attempting to maintain his composure. “I actually wanted to ask you about something else--”

“That flea-bitten sheep,” Shu interjected, but his son only scrunched up his snout silently in a display of ignorance. “The one with the cans!”

“Oh, uh… O-Otis? Right?” He again glanced between his father and Seth, searching for some sign of affirmation. “The one you keep complaining about?”

“I’m just trying to find if anyone’s seen him in the past week.”

Relaxing a bit, the son pocketed his phone and gave a light shrug.

“Uh, yeah. He was here, like, yesterday.”

Seth felt like he was suddenly slapped in the face with a limp fish. His ears jutted straight up and his eyes practically bulged out as his head reared back from the unexpected news. He was hoping for a lead, but for something this fresh to come up…

“W-was there a-any- Ahem!” Faking a cough to suppress his stammering, he took out his phone for dictation and pressed on. “Anything you recall that was out of the ordinary?”

“Not really, I guess,” the son hesitantly replied as he scratched the back of his head. “He bought a few bottles of gin. Umm… Leafeater, I think? It was, like…” He shuffled his paws around in the air absently, working out the details. “Three bottles? More than usual. I dunno.”

It wasn’t much to go on, but as he tapped away all the little details on his phone Seth was virtually ecstatic to at least know Otis was indeed alive and kicking as recently as yesterday, and had been in the neighborhood no less.

Yesterday. Barrett Avenue Wine & Spirits. Bought gin. Approx. three bottles.

“The heck are you talking about, boy?” Shu scoffed at his son, bringing Seth to glance up from his rapid notation. “There was hardly any coins in the till last night. I think I would have noticed over sixty bucks in loose change.”

“That’s ‘cause he didn’t pay with change,” the son explained with an exaggerated shrug and gave his father an ineffectively defensive look. “He paid in cash.”

Seth’s ears went askew.

“Wait. Cash?”

The son gawked down at Seth with a dumb look, like the raccoon was acting alien to the concept of money. “Uh, yeah…”

“Not coins?” Stoutwell cocked his head back towards Shu. “Has Otis ever paid in bills before?”

“Nope,” Shu immediately answered with a quick shake of his white and black head. “Never.”

Turning back to the son, Seth jabbed a clawed finger in his direction, accidentally causing the boy to flinch.

“But yesterday he paid in cash.”

“Yeah…” The younger Li stared down uncomfortably at the pint-sized police officer. “That’s what I said.” He then pursed his dark lips for a second and rolled his eyes back in contemplation before adding “New ones. Like… When you get them from the bank? Not all… wrinkly and dirty, like old ones.”

The dull chattering of the television filled the dead air that now hung over the room; Seth and Mr. Li had no words to speak, only a silent state of perplexion shared between them that left the messenger fidgeting about anxiously.

“So… Can I--”

Without even looking at his son, Shu curtly waved him off and the young panda all too eagerly hustled off into the back room while the sudden roar of canned laughter erupted from the TV, only to be cut short by Li’s paw angrily twisting the knob to off.

Furrowing his brow, Seth peered back down to the phone in his paws, still open to his notes, and tapped in a new line.

Paid in cash. Newly minted.

After tucking it away, he tilted his head up to Shu Li and found the panda had resumed the slouched, weary posture of defeat he first found him in, only now with a confused look in his dark eyes as he steadily shook his head.

“Zhè tā mā zěnme huí shì? Where the hell did that bum get that kind of cash?!”

 

* * *

 

It was a question that bore repeating; where did Otis get that kind of money?

Standing on the cracked, concrete steps of Li’s liquor store, Seth took one last look back at the flickering neon sign that hung overhead before hopping down to the sidewalk to wander off in no particular direction. The trail had gone cold again, but at least it came with the reward of a new puzzle piece.

If only he knew where it fit in the bigger picture.

Where did he get crisp dollar bills from? Otis was so far down the totem pole of poverty that financial aid wasn’t an option, and if he still had savings in the bank he wouldn’t have been paying in loose change until now.

“Hrm.” Seth tapped a claw on one of his exposed canines, trying to conjure and eliminate any possibilities. The rhythmic rapping echoed in his head like a hollow metronome, ticking away a mental tempo that was only briefly drowned out by the wailing siren of a passing fire engine.

Nobody gives panhandlers anything bigger than a wadded up buck or two, so the idea of Otis lucking out with a good samaritan on this level seemed unlikely. And while some homeless folk made a living from recycling- well, even if he brought the mother lode of empties to the bottle return, the payout would still be in quarters at best.

No, there wasn’t anything normal or mundane about it, and what was almost as strange as this unexplained bit of wealth was the fact that he was spending it here, no further away from his haunting grounds than a few blocks, at a time when he was also ‘missing’. Seth didn’t doubt the young Li’s testimony; as Otis certainly seemed to make a memorable impression on that family, but it made the idea that the run-down sheep would completely disappear from the homeless community a little hard to swallow.

When a friend goes missing, it’s usually that they turn up on the other side of town, or out of town, or pushing up the daisies; not whistling around the corner with an armload of gin. No one loses somebody that close by.

Unless if they didn’t want to be found.

The sudden notion stopped him dead in his tracks, but the thought itself still rolled on; was Otis hiding from someone?

Or rather, hiding something from everyone?

But as he pensively stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, pondering this new theory, a familiar and unsettling feeling crept up on him. Once more, the hackles of his fur bristled as a tingling sensation ran all the way down his spine, right to the tip of his quivering tail.

He was being watched again.

It was undoubtedly no different than what he felt back at the outreach center, only this time he was dead certain it wasn’t just a curious glance from a passer-by. No, these eyes were definitely fixed on his back and have been since he stopped. Maybe even longer, considering how he was so wrapped up in himself until now.

But no matter what the case was, someone was behind him, waiting for his next move.

Seth’s body held still; his muscles poised between the choices of fight or flight. There was no hiding that he could sense his pursuer behind him now; no matter how much he shallowed his breath or steadied his tail. He had been standing there far too long to pass himself off as acting natural, leaving him no other recourse.

Act now, while he still can.

Seth leaned his weight into his left foot, spinning himself around with his head tucked low. His shoulders raised to brace for impact. His paws outstretched to go on the attack. An upbringing on the mean streets of Tundratown prepared him for this moment; steeled his nerves and built a fire in his belly that was fueled on the pure adrenaline rush of an animal raring for a fight. No creature big or small could make him back down now. Not a weasel or wolf; boar or bear; rat or rhino. Not even--

The wind.

All the bravery and bravado he had instilled in himself wilted away until it was as paper-thin as the discarded copy of the Zootopia Free Press that fluttered along the sidewalk while Seth stood there, menacing the breeze.

If there ever was anyone behind him, they were long gone now.

He wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief that he felt, but either way, the anticlimax deflated his puffed up body until his arms sagged like limp noodles.

“The hell is putting me on edge here?” Seth asked aloud while scratching the back of his head; incidentally tilting his cap forward over his eyes. He was barely halfway into the first day of the case and he was already jumping at his own tail. At this rate he’d be a paranoid wreck by the deadline on the fourth day.

“Four days.”

Just repeating it made him want to sit down and mope. Sure, he had more info now than before, but still there wasn’t a clear lead on where to go next. If Otis was actually hiding from everyone, how exactly was Seth going to smoke him out? Follow a trail of empty bottles?

Forget jumping at his own tail; Seth was chasing it.

The high pitched scream of another fire engine roared from behind him and a gust of wind followed in its passing, toppling the police cap off his head. In a wild scramble, he just managed to catch it out of the air by the tips of his claws when a third truck sped off after the last two, followed by an ambulance and a couple ZPD cruisers.

“Getting pretty lively out here today,” Seth mused while he fixed his hat back on.

And in that moment when he arched his chin up to twist the cap firmly into place, he saw what the fuss was all about.

“Oh shit.”

Off in the distance - way back in the direction where he had come from - a rolling black cloud of smoke had risen over the horizon of Happytown.

 

* * *

 

The disaster may have been indoors, but out on the street it was a total mess, with emergency vehicles haphazardly parked across the pavement and the sidewalk clogged with first responders and gawking civilians.

The majority of his trek along the streets of Happytown had been so sparsely populated; Seth found it jarring to see how many mammals were milling around the block now that something as eye-catching as a raging inferno was on display.

But while everyone’s attention was on a pack of fully-geared camel firefighters that were charging into the building while a quartet of their elephant comrades struggled to douse the flames from outside, Seth found his eyes more drawn to the white acrylic sign over the entrance, now singed by the licking flames. The words printed on it were mostly burnt away, leaving large, sickly brown stains on the plastic surface, but Seth knew what it once said. He had, after all, just been there less than two hours ago.

“It’s a tragic day for the Happytown homeless community,” a nearby reporter droned into his microphone while staring down at his diminutive cameramouse, who tried his best to heft his camera high enough to keep the badger journalist in frame. “Behind me, the ZFD continue their fight to contain and extinguish the fire that has broken out at this local outreach center. There is no word yet as to what caused it, but we will keep you updated as this story develops. Back to you, Peter. …Hey! Watch it!”

“Sorry,” Seth apologized while he tip-toed over the reporter’s all-rodent film crew. “ZPD, coming through.”

Making his way through the crowd and towards the police barricade was far more troublesome than the obstacle course back at the academy. It was a constant gauntlet of shouldering past, stepping over and slipping under mammals of nearly every size and height he could imagine. By the time he reached the front, he must have zigzagged left and right for about ten feet to get through a five foot deep crowd. He was left so disoriented by the chaos that he practically walked headfirst into the leopard police officer who was warding everyone back from the striped plywood barriers set up around the perimeter.

“Ah, excuse me,” Seth piped up, barely catching his fellow officer’s attention over all the commotion, “Officer Stoutwell, Precinct One. What’s going on he--”

“Hey man,” the leopard grumbled while alternating his eyes between Seth and the crowd, “It’s nice and all that Central sent some backup, but it’d be better if you save the small talk and help out.”

“Oh, uh… Actually, I wasn’t sent here for crowd control. I was just in the area and--”

“Then quit wasting my time,” the officer snapped at Seth before waving his paws at the mob, snarling “Everyone stand back! Stand back!”

Against the ingrained urge to apologize, Seth carefully slipped past the barricade and into the restricted area. It was far less congested than the packed audience behind him, but it still remained every bit as hectic. The elephants operating the fire hoses were still shuffling from side to side, blasting any open windows on the building with gallons upon gallons of water while a lion on a bullhorn roared out directions on where everyone should be focusing their streams on.

Closer by, a pair of stags lingered around their ambulance, relaying details back to dispatch on their radios. It came with some relief for Seth when he peered into the open back of the ambulance and saw that the stretcher remained empty. No one was hurt. At least, not yet.

Shortly, one of the camels who went in came back out, his humped body stooped over like he was still evading the deadly smoke and fire, despite being back out in the safety of the open air. The lion immediately lowered his bullhorn and started talking closely with the firefighter. Though Seth wasn’t able to read lips, he could still gather by the serious looks on their faces and the occasional nods the camel made back to the building that he was probably informing his superior that the others were still searching the inside for any survivors.

Or casualties.

Feeling like a bit of a rubberneck - albeit one with a reasonable excuse - Seth was about to cease his spying on their inaudible conversation when he noticed that the camel raised something swaddled up in a dirty cloth. He must have had tucked against himself when he emerged earlier, because Seth didn’t notice it before.

Whatever it was, the two of them loomed over it intensely as the camel carefully unwrapped it. Unfortunately, given their height and distance, there wasn’t much Seth could make out from where he was standing. But from what little he could see poking out from the unwrapped bundle, there appeared to be some indiscernible oblong object in there.

“Oh, Officer Stoatwall! Officer Stoatwall!”

In a moment that reminded Seth of the time when he was dumped loudly enough for an entire restaurant to know about it, all of the idle EMTs and police officers jerked their heads towards the source of the shouting and then immediately stared down at him with an accusatory glare. Sufficed to say, he was more than a little bit chagrined and timidly skulked off towards whoever it was that couldn’t even embarrass him by the right name.

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to see that the four volunteer workers from earlier were waving him over.

Well, three of them were waving him over. The unforgettably unfriendly boar that was among them was instead grousing at a rhino that Seth recognized by his wrinkled, ill-fitted suit as a plainclothes detective.

“So what am I supposed to do about my hours? Hah?”

“Listen,” the rhino drawled, “what happens with your community service quota has nuttin’ to do with me. Yer just gunna have to take up it wit’- Uh…”

“Officer Hexley,” the boar grunted.

“Right, right…” The detective snorted while idling flipping through his notebook. “Anyway. If youse and the utters got anythin’ you remember, gimmie a call, eh?” He then crammed away his book and carelessly tossed his calling card at the visibly annoyed boar before lurching away from the group. “De’re all yers, Stoadwil.”

Seth couldn’t help but frown as he briefly watched the rhino lumber off. He wasn’t sure what the precinct in Happytown was like, but he hoped that this joke of a detective wasn’t what they considered their ‘gold standard’. Inarticulate; shamelessly dressed; disinterested; and to top it all off, no respect for properly addressing his fellow officers.

However, the impotent rage inside him quickly fizzled out when he made a startling revelation.

‘Oh god,’ Seth thought, wincing, ‘I’m turning into The Chief.’

“Ah- Excuse me, O-officer Stoatwall?”

A tiny voice and a light tap on his shoulder snapped Seth out of the nightmare image of growing horns and he turned to see the skittish rabbit volunteer standing behind him.

“S-sorry about- um- y-yelling…”

“Oh, uh, that’s fine,” Seth shrugged. “What can I do--”

“I- I tried calling you- ah- p-properly,” she continued. Her body progressively trembled with each word she mumbled. “B-but you didn’t hear me, and- uh…”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Seth wasn’t sure if he should laugh it off or pat her on the shoulder; either option seemed likely to cause the poor thing to crumble to pieces. “You, ah, seem pretty shaken up, though. Is everybody okay?”

She and the others calmly nodded; except for the boar, who nonchalantly snorted and shrugged.

“Alright, that’s good. That’s good,” Seth continued in his best attempt at a calm and professional tone. He knew he wasn’t the ‘gold standard’ for his precinct either, but he realized that now more than ever he had to step up and show these mammals that the ZPD cared. “Now I know nearly getting caught in a fire like this can freak you out and it’s only natural that you would, uh, turn to a- a familiar face, like me, for some reassurance.”

Everyone was now listening with their full attention. Even the surly boar stopped pretending to ignore him, which only encouraged Seth to press on.

“So let me first assure you that the professionals are taking care of the fire as we speak,” Seth waved towards the ZFD firefighters. “And if there are any injuries, medical staff are standing by,” he added as he gestured over to the EMTs. “Now, I will have to remind you that I’m on a missing mammal case and technically this incident is outside my jurisdiction, but if any of you need to speak with me for any moral support, I am more than willing to be available to you as a representative of the ZPD.”

Having finished what he considered a pretty bang-up speech, Seth clasped his paws together and confidently smiled at the group of volunteers.

They, however, only vacantly blinked at him in silence.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” the boar contemptuously snapped.

“I, uh--”

“Dude… Bro…” The heavy-lidded porcupine volunteer gave Seth a sympathetic smile as he subtly shook his head. “We already heard that stuff from the rescue guys.”

“Oh.” Seth’s shoulders sunk. “Y-you did?”

“Ah- Well- Y-yes,” the rabbit ruefully admitted.

“So why--”

“Well, ’cause, ya’ know,” intoned the mole volunteer, “he was here?”

Confused, Seth looked down at her. “Who?”

“Like, ya’ know, the guy?”

Seth looked back up at the others for answers, but the rabbit simply fiddled with her paws and the boar resumed ignoring him while squinting intently at the watching crowd, which left the porcupine to clarify in his glazed voice, “She means the MacShore dude.”

“It’s O’Shea- Wait,” Seth double-taked, “Otis was here?!”

“Sure was, brah.”

“Yeah…” the mole nodded. “Turns out he did have horns?”

“R-right here?” Seth gawped at them. “As in today? ‘Today’ today?”

“Heh, yeah,” the porcupine snickered and pointed towards the police barrier. “He was standing on the other side with everyone else, watching the action. You, like, just missed him by a hair.” He then thoughtfully paused for a moment before adding “Or would that be ‘by a yarn’? ‘Cause he’s got wool, right?”

“Isn’t, ya’ know, wool just hair?” pondered the mole.

“I- Ah- T-thought it was curly fur…” the rabbit meekly joined in.

Seth, on the other paw, wasn’t interested taking part in their debate of semantics; he was frantically adding this new detail to his notes.

Otis. Spotted at scene of fire. Among onlookers. Same day of investigation.

He was grinning from ear to ear as he entered the approximate time of day. This was good. Better than good; fantastic. Even if he just missed him, this would put him at least within a block or two of Otis.

Still, it once again struck him as strange for someone who was supposed to be missing to be spotted so close to an area he was supposed to be missing from in the first place.

Seth’s grin started to fade away as he continued to run the details through his head. If he was still going on his prior hunch that Otis was maybe hiding away, instead of missing, then it didn’t make much sense to suddenly expose himself just to watch a building burn, regardless of any connection he might have had with the place.

Something wasn’t adding up.

But while he continued to stare at all the little factoids he had recorded on his phone, that now familiar bristling sensation inched up his back and set his tail’s fur standing on end.

‘No,’ he thought, ‘it’s all in your head.’ There was, after all a large crowd of spectators behind him; it was only natural to think that some of them were looking at him. Just another police officer who was part of the big show. ‘C’mon, Seth, keep it together. There wasn’t anyone spying on you then, and there isn’t anyone spying on you now.’

“Hey,” the boar grunted, gesturing a hoof over Seth’s shoulder, “who’s your friend?”

Without a single hesitation, Seth spun around and just managed to catch a glimpse of a white figure dart back into the thick of the crowd.

“Son of a--”

No more second guesses. Seth shot towards the police barrier and scampered straight up one of the sawhorse legs. A nearby officer flinched as Seth mounted the top of the barricade and leapt off of it into the surprised crowd.

He had no time to call for dispersal, so he aimed his jump towards a shocked horse who ducked to avoid colliding with the pint-sized police officer, making his head into the perfect landing pad for Seth to wobbly drop on and kick back off of, sending him hopping from one large mammal to another, like skipping on stones in a brook.

The moment he finally landed on the open street, he quickly surveyed the area and once again spotted a white blur slip around the corner of a nearby alley.

“Gotcha,” Seth smirked and dashed right into the alley; assuming a full charge on all fours. Some would say it was undignified for a civilized mammal of the city to run around like a savage, but it was in his experience that he was faster this way, rather than the ungraceful jog his short legs were only capable of when standing upright.

However, no matter how quickly he was able to scurry, he was already faced with the fact that for the rest of the alley’s stretch there was no one ahead of him.

“C’mon… Ah hah!”

Fortunately what he did see was a side path that branched off into a parallel alley; an obvious detour for ditching someone if you’re being chased. And while any other mammal would probably still spot it and keep chasing their target in a direct path, this fugitive had the misfortune of being chased by someone who grew up running away from bullies on the rough streets of Tundratown; he knew all the tricks in the book.

So ignoring the obvious route, Seth continued barrelling straight down the original alley, mentally preparing his body to make a hard left the instant he cleared the exit. He had a fifty-fifty chance that the runner would try for a double fake-out and make a right on their exit, setting the two of them on a collision course.

As he came closer and closer to the end he could hear the frantic pitter-patter of them racing down the opposite alley; it almost sounded like they were both neck and neck, which filled him with confidence as he sprinted past the dumpsters that lined the walls.

The very second his front paws hit the sidewalk, he pulled his hind legs forward, twisted left, and catapulted himself towards the neighboring exit. Like clockwork, a white blur around his height shot out of the other alley and blindly turned right.

By the time they saw Seth hurtling at them, it was too late.

The fugitive gave out a shrill squeak as Seth tackled them to the ground, sending their bodies rolling along the pavement until Seth landed on top and pinned them to the ground like a predator of old catching his prey.

“Hahn… hahn… G-gotcha,” Seth wheezed triumphantly. “You, ah… You have a- A lot of explai--”

The words stopped dead in his mouth as he looked down at his supposed spy. In all of the adrenaline rush of the chase he didn’t recognize them until now, and frankly, he had to admit it may have been partially due to the fact that the last time they had met their positions were the other way around.

Looking up at him - with an embarrassed smile on her lips - were two rose-pink eyes behind a pair of large round glasses that sat askew on the twitching nose of a white rabbit with ashen splotches on her face and ears.

“Carol?”


	6. Chapter 6

_“Sure, I had heard about all the warnings, but I thought that stuff didn’t apply to me, you know? I’m smart. I’m careful. I can handle a little bit of glue. What’s the worst that can happen? Then… one day, I spilled a little on the floor- An accident. ‘I’ll clean it up when I get back from work’. But when I came home… my… my wife was there, on the floor. She… she couldn’t move.”_

_“Every year, hundreds of innocent lives are affected by the hazards of glue.”_

_“She couldn’t move…”_

_“Glue. Once you’re stuck… you’re out of luck.”_

_“This message was brought to you by the Glue Awareness Council of Little Rodentia.”_

_“We return to you now with Lucy Zibu, live on the scene at city hall.”_

_“Thank you, Peter. As we’ve heard earlier, City Council has called an emergency meeting to discuss the ramifications of this recent turn of events. So far Councilwoman Canidae had been spotted entering the building during the break and as you can see behind me right now, Councilwoman Swinton has just arrived with Police Commissioner Galiza. We should be expecting the remaining council members and city officials to appear at any moment, but it may still be quite some time until we’re given any solid details on what will happen next.”_

_“Thank you, Lucy. We’ll be looking forward to your update. And for those of you at home who are only tuning in now, there has been a startling new development in the Savage Epidemic, or rather the lack thereof. Thanks to the intrepid work of the ZPD, it has come to light that this threat that had gripped the citizens of Zootopia in a constant state of fear was, in fact, the doing of the now former acting Mayor of Zootopia, Dawn Bellwether, and a group of extremist, anti-predator co-conspirators--”_

“Turn it up! Turn it up! I can’t hear what they’re saying!”

“If you would keep your voice down, we wouldn’t need to turn it up.”

“Feh! You only say that because you want everything whisper quiet, like the babushka you are,” Yorgi growled as he seized a pawful of pretzels from the bowl that sat on the bar counter, shoving half of them into his maw and flinging the rest at the taciturn cougar beside him.

The miniature bar snacks bounced ineffectively off of his grey double-breasted suit-jacket and would have barely fazed him if it wasn’t for the errant crumbs and salt that lingered on the wool fabric. With an irritated tremble of his muzzle, Georg’s whiskers twitched rapidly as he coldly brushed the debris from his shoulder in a silent evasion from giving the rowdy wolf the satisfaction of knowing that he had gotten just the least bit under his hide.

The bar’s back room door swung open with a hollow bang and a sour-faced beaver came waddling out, giving Yorgi the stink-eye while untying an apron from around his ample gut.

“Hey idiot, those are for keeping customers thirsty, not for littering my floor,” he bellowed in a sharp and authoritative tone that far exceeded a mammal of his stature.

“Bóbr,” Yorgi crooned back at him with an easy smile, “you are forgetting, we are your only customers. Anyway, isn’t that what you’re paying him for?” His smile peeled back into a mischievous grin as he jerked his head towards the raccoon perched on a stepladder behind the bar. “Eh, Little Bandit?”

Seth rolled his eyes while he finished scrubbing a freshly washed pint glass and set it down by a row of its matching kin. The set of drinkware was unusually well-stocked that evening, even for a Thursday. As much as it pained him to admit that Yorgi was right - about anything - the place was uncharacteristically dead. Even with the all the breaking news going on, he figured that more people would be having a beer or a shot to celebrate the end of months of panic.

Leave it to Zootopians to enjoy a liberating moment like this by shackling themselves to the TV at home.

“You’re the sole reason why you two are the only customers in here,” Castor tersely grunted as he gave Yorgi a curt thwack of his apron. “You spooked everyone off from the doorway with all the racket you’ve been making!”

He gave the white wolf another frustrated smack, but it only provoked a childish, lopsided grin on Yorgi’s muzzle as he impishly giggled at the agitated beaver’s kvetching.

“Driving all my barflies away with your criminal stink!”

“You are too unkind, Bóbr,” Georg chimed in. His tone of voice carried a mocking mixture of innocence and hurt feelings that matched the look that hung on his face. “We are simply two… businessmammals - and good friends of the house - who have come to enjoy a drink with our brother.”

It was hard for Seth to resist snickering at the notion of his friends being mistaken for businessmammals. Georg, maybe. If he were to lose the well-worn olive military coat he had draped over his two-piece suit. Or if his paws weren’t covered in nicks and cuts that screamed ‘you should see the other guy’. But Yorgi? Like most wolves from Blizzard Street, he came out of the womb wearing track pants and an a-shirt. The only sort of business he looked like he was into was the sort that involved things that ‘fell off the back of a truck.’

Seething, Castor squinted up at the smooth-talking cougar. The tight-lipped glare on his face gave the rest of them the impression that he was gearing up to spit out some grand, cutting remark that would bring the two large preds down in flames, but after a brief standoff, the anticipation only amounted to a dismissive snort.

He was, after all, an old beaver and sometimes the bark just wasn’t worth the bite.

“I’m turning in for the night,” Castor droned and tossed his apron onto the counter. “Don’t let these idiots keep you open past last call, alright?”

Seth wordlessly cocked an eyebrow at his two dear friends and in turn they cast him knowing looks over the rims of their raised glasses as they calmly drank in unison.

“Sure thing, Castor,” he replied, knowing fully that it was a promise they wouldn’t let him keep. “Sleep well.”

The old beaver resumed his slow shuffle towards the front door, barely returning any sort of well-wishes for the remainder of the evening beyond a simple apathetic “Mhn.”

Seth paid the lack of response with little mind. Castor was the very model of an outspoken curmudgeon, so he rarely took it for granted on the few occasions that his boss chose silence over snarling.

“Good night, Bóbr.”

Yorgi, however, was not one to appreciate such subtleties.

Castor’s stocky, hunched figure stopped partway out the entrance, his clawed paw tightly clutching the door. A chill crept up Seth’s back when he saw the dark scowl on the beaver’s broad face as it tilted back towards them.

Whether it was in obliviousness or malice, Yorgi just grinned back at him as he leaned so far back on his stool, tilting it back on its rear legs, that he would have been on the verge of falling onto the floor if it weren’t for his feet being hooked under the bar’s brass foot rail.

It was in a low and threatening tone that Castor finally growled back at the reckless wolf.

“That ain’t my name, you flea-bitten mutt. I didn’t have them hang a sign outside that says ‘Castor’s’ because I thought it looked pretty. So if you don’t cut it out with your mumbly Tundran gibberish, I’ll make sure to teach you my name by carving it into your mangy hide with a corkscrew. Are we clear?”

The immediate, hollow sound of Yorgi’s stool heavily falling back onto all four legs as he assumed a sober, tight-lipped demeanor was the only reply that Castor needed. Without another word, he turned back to the outside world and swiftly slammed the door shut behind him, sending the tin bell that hung above it into a rattling panic.

The once boisterous party of three now sat in silence.

_“In further development of tonight’s breaking news, we have been informed that the entire investigation had been carried out by a single officer of the ZPD, with the aid of a local… Wait. Was this fact-checked? …It was? …Oh. Ahem. A local fox.”_

Seth quietly continued his piecemeal cleaning duties as the news rambled on. Yorgi was always quick to start a fight and Castor knew even faster ways to end them, so he had little desire to add anything to that parting threat, lest he say something that would really offend the wolf and set him off to make things physical with the old beaver. If it came to that…

Well, Yorgi may have been a Blizzard Street boy, but Castor was a grizzled old bartender with teeth of iron and no qualms about using a lack of height to his advantage. Yorgi’s odds were not in his favor.

Just as the news had cut away to an advertisement for a new condo project, a loud clattering of glass and ice clapping down on the counter startled Seth and Georg out of their tranquil moment.

“Nu nakher,” Yorgi muttered petulantly. “Tonight is great night for celebration, eh? A… What they say? ‘Banner day’ for pred and pred alike? Yes?”

“True that,” Georg agreed into his glass.

Nodding, Seth couldn’t deny that fact. “Definitely a weight off my shoulders.”

Yorgi’s lips curled back in a broad grin as he carelessly waved his near-empty glass in the air. “So I say, forget our worries!”

“Sure.”

“Live for tonight!”

“Heh. Okay.”

“Pour me a glass of the top-shelf, on the house!”

Seth’s ears flattened immediately. “Yeah, no.”

“Ehh?!” Yorgi recoiled; looking almost convincingly hurt. “How can you deny your brother? Come on!” He then leaned in close with a coy smile, waggling is glass under Seth’s nose. “Bez kota mysham razdol'ye~.”

“I believe you have that the wrong way,” Georg noted in the calmingly corrective manner he had tailor-made to deal with Yorgi’s ‘difficult’ moments. “It is the rodent who has left, and at least one cat remains.” He then softly tapped his chest for emphasis.

“Yeah, anyway, top-shelf is for payers.” Reaching below the bar, Seth pulled up two shot glasses and a spout-topped bottle of unmarked whiskey. “Freebies get what’s under the counter.”

The wolf rolled his eyes and wormed his mouth while Seth filled up the two shots; offering one to Yorgi and holding onto the other for himself in a raised toast.

“Nostrovia.”

Gladly clinking glasses with his little brother, the ever-present confident smirk returned to Yorgi’s muzzle. “Na zdorov'ye.”

Unfazed by his omission from the friendly toast, Georg idly glanced at the TV before piping up. “Who would have thought that sheep could pull something so… sinister?”

“Keh! I would,” Yorgi objected through the dry taste of whiskey burn. “Never trust someone who’s born looking at you sideways!”

As he sourly eyed the labelless bottle, Seth gave a noncommittal snort. “I suppose anyone is capable of anything when it comes down to it.”

“Perhaps,” Georg shrugged. “But you know,” he added, with a proud tug of his lapels, “they make great suits.”

Rapping his glass on the counter for another shot, Yorgi snickered. “Now there’s a good idea! Shave them all for- ehh… ‘Reparations’? A free sweater for every pred!”

“I could use a new scarf,” Seth mused while pouring another round of dubious whiskey. Before he got the chance to tilt the bottle back up, Yorgi had already snatched his shot into the air, sloshing a quarter of it as he gesticulated wildly.

“Then it is settled! Tonight we drink and tomorrow we buy out the barber!”

Seth could only laugh and shake his head while he topped off his own belt. At this rate, Yorgi would be too bombed out to even spell the word ‘barber’, let alone crawl out of bed to buy a pair of scissors.

After taking a second to work up the courage to brave another taste of the paint-thinner parading as a single malt, Seth tipped the glass to his lips, only to pause again as the sudden jingling of the door’s bell alerted the room to the arrival of another guest.

“Um, e-excuse me?”

 

* * *

 

Seth watched Carol scamper about, scooping up what appeared to be a treasure trove of stationary supplies that had spilled out of her coat pockets when he tackled her moments earlier. The sight of this rabbit chasing after scattered pens and markers was both oddly fascinating and somewhat exhausting at the same time. It was like the strangest act of spinning plates he had ever seen; an endless darting from left to right, all the while constantly readjusting her glasses and untangling her limbs from the ridiculously long scarf that was draped over her slender shoulders.

Briefly closing his eyes to spare himself from the dizzying display, Seth remembered the more important matter at the moment.

“So - wait - you were stalking me?”

“What!?” Carol sprung straight up and immediately dumped her armload of bits and bobs as she frantically waved her paws at Seth. “No! No no no! I was just- Ack!”

Realizing she had just undone all of her work, Carol dropped back down to the sidewalk and resumed grasping at everything before it rolled off into the gutters.

“Uh, here,” sighed Seth as he stooped down and snatched up a couple wayward brushes and erasers. “Lemme help you out with that.”

Carol only returned a tiny, embarrassed smile as she knelt down with him; now cramming whatever she collected into her coat pockets.

“This’ll sound a bit silly- Well, fairly silly,” Carol rapidly babbled while depositing away a bundle of ribbon and a small pair of scissors. “Really silly, actually… Oh!”

Quizzically, Seth held up what appeared to be a baggy filled with a fine, sparkling powder.

“It’s not what you think,” Carol nervously clarified. “I have a license for that.” She then gave an awkward laugh, only to let it die off before adding “It’s actually just glitter.”

“Right…” Seth still peered at it scrutinizingly as he handed the baggy over to her, along with the smaller items he had in his other paw.

“You’re probably wondering why I have all of this…”

“The, uh, thought occurred to me,” Seth muttered while picking up a half used tube of superglue; briefly cradling it between his paws before passing it over. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I want answered first.”

“I’m an artist.”

“I hope that’s not the answer to both questions, because that just leads to new ones.”

“No no,” Carol chuckled, shaking her head. “Just the second one. I usually work out of my apartment, but sometimes when I’m out and about, the inspiration just hits me, you know? And instead of holding onto it until I get back, I just keep some supplies nearby to do it on the go.”

‘Some supplies?’ Her phrasing echoed in Seth’s head as he eyed both the bulging payload in her pockets and the debris that still remained to be collected.

‘SOME supplies.’

“So, ah, what kinda form of art do you do, exactly?”

Carol was quick to reply, barely giving pause even as she divided her attention with the roll of tape measure that she was reeling in. “Greeting cards.”

“Ah.” Seth began to nod his head in understanding when a number of loose ends from earlier that day sprung back to mind.

The gift basket.

The custom painted mug and card.

They weren’t just ordered by Carol.

They were made by her.

“You work for Friendly Sunshine Greetings.”

“Mhm,” she replied absently, counting a set of white erasers. “Holidays, birthdays, good times and bad times, let the sunshine be your fr-- Huh.” Putting the brakes on her sing-song recitation of the company motto, Carol gave a puzzled look at a particular object that stood out from the rest of the knick-knacks in her paws. “Well this isn’t mine…”

It had been so long since he last had any real need for it that he had practically forgotten it was in his pockets. And evidently, it was also long enough for him to not even notice that it had fallen out during their tumble.

But there it was, sitting in the rabbit’s paw, in all its translucent orange glory.

Not giving her the chance to read the prescription label, Seth snatched it from her grasp and stowed it away in his pants.

“That’s- It’s my a-allergy medication,” Seth hurriedly explained. “Cat dander. Lots of lions and tigers on the force… So anyway, you were, uh, saying something about this being silly?”

Carol’s nose scrunched in confusion, causing her large round glasses to rise up her face. “My job?”

“No… How you were following me.”

“Oh.” By the grimace on her face, Seth got the impression that she was hoping the conversation had detoured enough from that matter. “So yeah, really, really silly…”

Shoveling up the final items into her coat pockets, she brushed the dust off her sides, rose back to her full height and offered an open paw for Seth.

He didn’t consider it at the moment that he took her paw and allowed her to help hoist him to his feet, but once he was properly standing with her, he felt some strange disconnect in looking down at the rabbit, like it was impossible to believe that this little rose-eyed thing that stared up at him from within her long, brown, belted coat could possibly lift him up.

And yet she did so, without a single grunt or complaint.

But any greater understanding of what this truly said about her quickly fled his mind the second he realized that he had been staring at her a little too intently for far longer than necessary. And even worse, she noticed.

“Anyway,” she continued, giving him a weak smile, “I felt really terrible about last night. Really, really terrible. I don’t normally go out for drinks, but the girls at work invited me out, and after a few glasses of wine I was a bit…” Wincing, she gesticulated her paws as she looked for the right word. “Excitable? Either way, it isn’t any excuse for me knocking you over like that, but at the time I thought you were climbing over the railing to… Well… Jump.”

“Right,” Seth nodded. “I gathered that.”

“Yeah…” Carol nodded back, awkwardly shifting her gaze to the side in chagrin. “So I figured the least I could do to make it up to you was sending that apology basket. So I got up early and-- Ohmygosh!”

She had been guiltily glancing around, avoiding direct eye contact with him as she spoke, only to unexpectedly snap her attention directly at his face in shock.

Taken off guard, Seth recoiled at the sudden wide-eyed outburst.

Wagging a finger at his jaw with one paw and covering her mouth in horror with the other, Carol gasped. “Did I do that?”

Perplexed at first, Seth quickly felt around his muzzle for a second before it finally clicked for him as his paw passed over the pair of bald notches on his lower right jaw.

Just another thing he had grown to take for granted these days.

“No,” he chuckled as he rubbed at the scar tissue. “These are old marks. Got a few of them, actually.”

“Ohh,” Carol softly cooed, inching up on the tips of her toes to get a better look. “Being a cop really is dangerous work, huh?”

“Er, y-yeah… I guess.”

“So… How did you get them?”

“That’s, uh, not r-really important--”

“Was it a mugger?”

“Carol…”

“A street gang?”

“Carol.”

“A street gang of muggers?”

“Carol!”

He regretted snapping at her the very moment after it happened. Carol’s ears had wilted down behind her head as she receded into her shoulders like a shameful turtle, giving him the sorry look of a scolded child.

“Listen,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s okay,” she said in a calm and strangely sympathetic tone. Her body language had eased up, but there still seemed to be some sort of fragility in her face. “I think I understand.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the guilt talking, but there was something about this display of quiet sincerity that made him feel uncomfortable.

But before he could find any words that would reconcile the situation, Carol clapped her paws and snapped her ears back up to their full height in a single switchblade-like motion.

“So, as I was saying, I put together that basket for you, but after I sent it I started thinking that maybe I was being too impersonal. You know, like when someone hits your car and just leaves a note. I mean, would it kill you to wait and apologize in person?”

And just like that, she picked up almost exactly from where she left off; seemingly unfazed by his prior faux pas. The way she was able to just turn on a dime like that would have given Seth something to scrutinize and figure out about her, but he was having a hard enough time keeping focus on the rapid-fire anecdote spilling out of her mouth.

“Anyway, by the time I got to your precinct, the nice cheetah at the front desk told me you had literally just stepped out-- Was he the same guy on the phone?”

“Uh, y-yeah.”

“Thought so,” Carol nodded to herself. “I’m usually good with voices. Faces too,” she added, rubbing her chin. “And names. I guess I’m just good with people in general… Ah, but anyway--” She gave a frantic wave of her paw, like she was shooing away butterflies of digression. “I was still lucky enough to spot you catching a cab in front of the precinct and there was an open Zuber right there, so I kinda… Sorta…”

The black SUV that was tailing his cab.

Seth could feel the first piece of the puzzle snapping into place.

And he had a pretty good idea about the rest that would follow.

“I know I shouldn’t have done that, but I got all caught up in the idea of meeting you face to face,” she sighed. “By the time we both arrived here, I realized you’d think I was crazy. And I wouldn’t blame you. Honestly, I should have turned back when I realized I couldn’t just chase you down and say that I followed you halfway across Savanna. But I was determined to see it through…”

Seth folded his arms expectantly.

‘Here we go.’

“So you know how in movies when two people bump into each other in public? It’s called a ‘meet cute’. Funny term, huh? Haha.” Embarrassed by her own forced laugh, Carol self-consciously rubbed her neck as she continued. “I saw you go into that homeless shelter and figured that maybe I could just… ‘Happen to run into you’.”

Puzzle piece number two. The presence outside the outreach.

“Goes without saying that I chickened out. And again, when you left that liquor store…”

Piece number three.

“And then there was strike three at the shelter. …Again.”

And piece number four. Though that one was painfully obvious.

“I’m really, really, REALLY sorry about this,” she stressed, paws pleadingly clasped together. “When I realized you were on official duty at the fire, I was going to just slip back into the crowd and leave you alone, but curiosity got the better of me. What with all the excitement going on. Next thing I know, that boar you were talking to is pointing at me, so I panicked and ran off, and--”

“And here we are.”

Breathing in, Carol’s shoulders rose up and then dropped heavily with a penitent exhale. It was like the gravity of what she had done had taken on a literal meaning; even her gaze swung down with the same weight, staring at Seth’s feet, while her ears dipped below ten and two.

“Yeah…”

Tight-lipped, Seth hesitated to respond to the whole story she had given him. He really wasn’t sure what to say; not because he didn’t know - he did - but because of what he was expected to say.

He was, after all, a cop.

His job wasn’t just about to handing out tickets or slapping cuffs on lawbreakers. He was supposed to be a guiding point, a moral compass for the citizens of Zootopia that kept them on the straight and narrow. If they made a wrong turn, he was supposed to set them right; be it with a gentle nudge or stern direction.

It was like Chief Bogo once said. ‘The key point of being the authorities is to **be an authority** ’.

He should chastise her for all of this.

For following someone without their knowledge.

For disrupting an investigation.

For acting suspiciously.

For fleeing the scene of a crime.

Go home, little rabbit. Go back to your easel or drawing board and stay out of trouble. You’re not needed here. You’re in the way. You’ve done enough.

Thank you and send your support to the city council.

Have a nice day.

That’s what was expected of him, wasn’t it?

He was a cop, right?

“H-hey, ah, have you…” Seth trailed off, taking a moment to clear his throat and adjust his cap. “Have you had lunch yet?”

Carol looked up at him with a sort of bemusement. Her ears stood upright again, except one bent halfway at a right angle, which Seth had come to know, from observing one of his fellow officers, as the universal rabbit sign-language for ‘huh?’

“Well, it’s just that I want to call us even after running you down like that, but…” Playfully, he wagged his head from side to side while allowing a little smirk. “I mean, you did go to the trouble of meeting me. The least I could do is buy you a bite. Deal?”

Any remaining unease on her face had melted away like snow on a spring morning and gave way to her lips curling up into a warm, buck-toothed grin.

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

They didn’t have to go very far to find a food truck with a menu they could agree on, but it was a long enough walk for Seth to get a better assessment of Carol.

First off, it was with the way that she walked.

It was probably a bit unfair to compare her to Officer Hopps; however, she was the only rabbit that he had the luxury of observing on a regular basis and he had to set a benchmark somewhere.

With Judy, she had the posture of a yardstick; back straight, shoulders squared, arms akimbo and an even, purposeful gait.

Carol, on the other hand, was far more relaxed and loose in her stride. Every now and then she’d add a skip in her step or calmly sway from side to side. With the oversized coat and broad scarf that dangled over her shoulders, she almost looked like a big kid. The only thing missing from the picture was a pair of swinging arms. Instead, she kept her paws buried in her already crowded pockets.

Secondly, she wasn’t as talkative as she was earlier. Not due to them being two strangers with nothing to talk about, but rather because she seemed far more enthralled by their surroundings, surveying all the little things that the locals probably took for granted.

The row of brownstones that marked the earlier days of the neighborhood.

The rusted out Tanuki Pagoda sign that inexplicably still hung over the payday loan office that had long since replaced the former restaurant.

The stenciled image of a glowering elephant, spray painted up on a second story wall with the blocky word ‘HERD’ written below.

The empty lot that had given way to overgrowth; turning it into a semi-naturally formed micro-park where grass, weeds, and ivy have reclaimed the ground and walls.

With every attentive twist and turn of her head, Seth couldn’t help but snicker to himself. There was something he found amusing about how she was still in a stage where inner-city hallmarks like this stood out.

She really was a country rabbit.

“I didn’t get off the bus yesterday, you know,” Carol playfully snarked as she jabbed a plastic fork into her spicy carrot salad, nearly piercing the paper plate that rested on her lap. “I’ve been around the city.” With a serving of carrots, kale, and cashews poised at her open mouth, she paused half a second before adding “I mean, would a country rabbit take the train all the way into the Canal District just to catch the mange?”

“Not really,” Seth mused while squeezing a lime slice over his fried haddock taco. “Some folks just catch it in a back alley.”

With a roll of her eyes, Carol snorted and gave Seth a light shove, briefly tipping him askew on the curb they both sat on. “Not that! It’s a band.”

“Heh. Yeah, yeah. I know,” he chuckled. “Ska band, right? I think The Mange played a gig on Wall Street once.”

“Isn’t that a rough neighborhood?”

Seth only shrugged. Having given into the greasy aroma of his lunch, his mouth was stuffed full of fish and tortilla, leaving little room for reply.

There wasn’t much he had to say about that anyway. Wall Street was a rough place. Not many people live under the Tundratown refrigeration units willingly; you had to be a special kind of desperate to call that place home.

As the midday sun gave the streets of Happytown a healthier glow than the morning gloom that originally greeted him, he couldn’t help but wonder if a slum like Wall Street would be next in line for ‘revitalization’ once the developers had their fill of this place.

Or Blizzard Street.

The idea of the well-worn tenements of his old neighborhood being swallowed up by asymmetrical condominiums made his stomach turn.

Well, almost.

It was hard to lose his appetite when he was only halfway through one of the best damn fish tacos he’d had in a long time. Whatever that meerkat running the grill did to make the batter so flaky made the trip out here worthwhile, that’s for sure.

Off in the distance, he could hear the slow rumbling of diesel engines, signalling the departure of the ZFD’s fire trucks from the next block over. The last few minutes with Carol had been so peaceful that he almost forgot that the both of them were at the site of a blazing inferno mere moments ago.

But that wasn’t all that he had forgotten, wasn’t it?

Seth gazed guiltily at the remaining third of his lunch, realizing that it wasn’t just the flames inside the outreach center that had gone cold, but also the trail left by Otis. He was just there before Seth arrived, and instead of using a crowd of onlookers to give him the next lead he chose to chase after Carol. To chat with Carol. To waste time eating with--

‘Stop that,’ he thought to himself as he felt his heart rate spike ever so slightly. ‘I’m the only one responsible for leaving the scene. Not her.’

It didn’t matter anyway. Even if he had let her run and instead asked around if anyone else saw Otis leave the scene, he’d still be in the same situation he was in from the start; constantly a step behind.

‘A step behind…’

Back when he used to hang around his father’s newsstand after school, he’d sometimes arrive early enough to spot his dad playing a game of chess with some of the older wolves from the neighborhood. It always seemed like magic or some kind of psychic power how they would just wordlessly make their moves back and forth without hesitation.

‘It’s not about knowing what your next move is,’ his father would tell him. ‘It’s not even about knowing their next move. It’s about knowing the next two moves they’ll make, or the next three, or four. If you have any hope of winning, it’s by always staying ahead and never letting yourself get left a step behind.’

All this - chasing him around town - that was the real waste of his precious time. If he had any hope of ‘winning’, he had to make use of what little time he had left to figure out where Otis was going to be before he even gets there.

“So what are you up to out here anyway?”

Realizing that he had let himself drift off into contemplation long enough that the chipotle mayo on his taco was starting to liquefy and drip onto the pavement, he looked up to see Carol shyly smiling at him as her fork traced figure-eights in the scrapings of her meal.

“Sorry, I was just curious. If it’s the kind of official business you can’t talk about--”

“Hm? Oh, uh, no, no. It’s fine,” he said reassuringly while shaking his head. “Honestly, I think I’ve told about a quarter of the people in this area about it by now…”

Rising a finger in the air to pause the discussion, he popped the last morsel of his taco into his flapping maw; gobbling it down in four quick bites.

“Does it have to do with that fire back there?” Carol pressed on. “Are you on some sort of serial arson case?”

His initial response was a congested chortle. “Nothing that serious. I’ll be straight with you; I’m about as much of a desk jockey as the cheetah you met back at the precinct. They don’t give me big cases like arson.”

“Oh.” Confused, Carol started absently chewing on the tines of her plastic fork. “But you were taking statements from those people at the fire, weren’t you?”

“That’s more a coincidence. I’m actually doing a favor for a sort of… Old friend, I guess. A pal of his has gone missing, so he asked me to help find him and make sure he’s okay.”

“Sounds like he really trusts you.”

“I guess,” Seth shrugged. “I don’t think he really has any other choice.”

“Why not?”

“The guy is a homeless sheep, Carol. Cases like that… They’re usually write-offs.”

“So if it’s a lost cause, why are you helping him?”

Why indeed.

Seth didn’t want to admit it, but ever since Old Red came to him, he had been feeling something very familiar. Something heavy.

He felt it when he visited Qantas in prison. And when Helen Atria came to him about her late son Marlon.

But that pitted feeling had been there even longer than that. Hasn’t it?

“I know exactly why you’re helping, Seth,” Carol continued with a confident smile. “It’s because you’re someone who does the right thing.”

And that was the third thing Seth observed about Carol.

“It’s because you’re a good person.”

She really was a bad judge of character.

 

* * *

 

The room had an uncomfortable air about it; thick with unease as the three of them silently stared at the newcomer in the doorway.

“Y-you are open, right?” he asked, nervously clicking his hooves.

None of them responded. He wasn’t even sure why, but the moment that Georg relaxed and turned back to the bar something reset in Seth’s brain, telling him to polish off the shot he still held in the air.

By the time he placed the empty shot glass onto the counter, the black sheep was already making his way towards the bar, taking the absence of a ‘no’ as an invitation.

Yorgi, however, was anything but inviting. He didn’t take his eyes off of him for a second, while the fur on the back of his neck slowly bristled up.

“It’s just that m-most places are closed early, what with all the, uh, excitement going on…”

Stuttering, the ram trotted closer, carefully glancing at Yorgi. He was smart enough to give him a wide berth, but dumb enough to still climb up onto the neighboring stool.

Seth picked up another spotty pint glass and started polishing it as he casually eyed the customer.

His black wool was practically spilling out of the polo shirt and khakis he was stuffed into. A lariat that dangled from his neck suggested that he was from the call center down the street. A soft, little cubicle dweller. Didn’t even have horns. Skittish and high-strung, he seemed perfectly harmless.

Of course, the same could have been said about a lot of folks months ago, before this whole mess.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of it, but I could really use a drink--”

“Provalivay, ovtsa,” Yorgi abruptly spat out at him. Before anyone else had realized it, the white wolf was looming threateningly over the ram, with his sneering muzzle poised from above like a whaler’s harpoon.

“P-please, one beer, that’s all I’m asking for,” the sheep pleaded with Seth as he warily turned away from the overbearing wolf. “I just need to get off the street for a minute. Until things cool down out there.”

Looking away from the despondent ewe, Seth glanced between his brothers. Having eased down from his towering presence, Yorgi seethed in his spot, staring daggers at the trembling sheep as he huffed angrily, stinking the air with the smell of vodka and cheap whiskey. In contrast, Georg stayed stooped over his drink, lending no attention to their unwanted guest; his face was a complete blank slate of emotion. But his eyes, though… They were looking straight back at Seth, tacitly urging him to make a decision, and soon.

“Please.”

Slowly, he looked back to the black sheep and then gazed down at the clean beer glass in his paw, catching his distorted reflection on its surface as he contemplatively twisted it in the light.

And then, without blinking, breathing or giving any other pause for physical reaction, he calmly stowed the glass away and gave the sheep a frigid stare as he spoke in a dead, flat tone.

“Private party, grazer.”


	7. Chapter 7

“So why is it called that anyway?”

“Hm?” Halting in mid-step, Seth turned to see Carol gawking up at a nearby street sign; one of the few that wasn’t scribbled in some illegible graffiti. A pair of glowing dots danced along its surface as the sun reflected off her enormous glasses.

“This whole area. Why is it called ‘Happytown’? It doesn’t seem very--”

“Happy?”

“Well- I mean… Some people seem happy here,” Carol reluctantly replied as she turned her head back down to the street, looking around for a clear example.

Among the few pedestrians that shuffled about with their paws in their pockets and eyes on the pavement, she spotted a dopey-faced llama that stumbled out of a pharmacy across the street. Twisting and weaving his legs in a drunken tango, he grinned blithely to himself without a care in the world - or a thought in his head - right up until he ran waist-first into a bollard and tumbled down hard on his back-side, earning a droopy-eared wince from Carol.

“Kinda.”

“Well, it’s, ah, kind of an old story.” Feeling an empathetic tingle in his belt, Seth grimaced while he steered her by the shoulders, continuing them down the sidewalk. “And not exactly one the city - or anybody - is proud of…”

 

* * *

 

You see, way back when Zootopia was still expanding, we didn’t have the benefit of climate controlled biomes like we do today. Not every part of the city was built to meet the special needs of every single animal. The area we now know as Downtown was where it started building upward and outward, and mostly spread out into the south, developing what would become Savanna Central. The great big dividing wall that makes Sahara Square and Tundratown possible was barely more than a multi-million dollar dream in a day when having only a few thousand bucks in your bank account meant you were stinking rich. Sure, there were small, developing suburbs where we now have the Canal District and the Meadowlands, but it would take years and years of growth until they were eventually incorporated into Zootopia.

So just imagine all of that, going from the lonely little watering-hole that disconnected tribes of predators and prey made a truce over for mutual settling rights, to the urban explosion that was taking place at this point. Mammals on two different sides of the food chain were presented with a rapidly increasing concern; how can they co-exist in an environment that was constantly getting more and more densely packed by the day?

How can we ask nearly a tenth of the population to accommodate the deep-rooted fears and prejudices of their neighbors?

How can we possibly pull off an experiment in segregation on such a scale?

And then they found their answer.

Happytown.

The name of it sounds silly now, but back then the average mammal was a little less savvy about this kind of thing. Anything dirty can look fresh and pure with the right can of paint.

So that’s what they sold the marginalized and distrusted preds of Zootopia; a brand new sub-district on the city’s frontier, with available lots costing only fifty cents on the dollar, and subsidized housing programs specifically geared for pred families. All of it was wrapped up in great big billboards - tall enough for everyone to see from miles away - that each proudly displayed a dream for sale with their welcoming art-deco figures.

_“Happytown. Look sharp and be sharp!”_

_“Happytown. The pride of the city!”_

_“Happytown. A place to live!”_

The deal was so good that no one thought twice about it before signing on the dotted line. Segregation or not, they were being offered a financial opportunity that no one could pass up.

But here’s the thing…

While the whole project was conceived to set the prey majority at ease by mostly putting the preds out of sight, it did very little to put them out of mind. If anything, it amplified the irrational fear of them as “the other” by changing them from neighbours next door, into strangers in a different postal code.

Before too long, an address in Happytown became a stigma in itself.

It was a great place for starting small businesses, due to low property costs, but to support the full population of that district, you needed manufacturing jobs, office work, employers that hired on larger scales than the mom and pop down the street. And that meant getting work outside of Happytown, in the integrated areas. Doing that was a constant struggle for them, as prey-owned businesses were hesitant to accept resumes when they saw a Happytown street in the contact details.

This preconceived notion of what kind of mammals lived in Happytown became self-fulfilling, as this social and economic roadblock started to create a poverty problem in the district. And naturally this created the sort of climate that breeds desperation, depression, and failure, all prime catalysts for crime, substance abuse and homelessness.

By the time the second generation of Happytown citizens came of age, the neighborhood became exactly as bad as everyone else in Zootopia had expected it to be.

But while their parents went from the dreamers to the dejected, the children were just plain angry, with nearly two decades of awareness and new ideas of how things were, and how they’re supposed to be.

There was a vibe, a simmering energy of unrest you could feel in the streets down here that the rest of the city was unaware of, or simply didn’t care about. If they knew of it, it was a “Happytown problem”, not theirs.

But they were wrong.

And it took was a single spark.

Electricity in the air or not, I don’t think anyone could honestly say they completely expected the Omega Inn riots to have happened, but when they did it wasn’t just a couple storefronts and cars in Happytown that was on fire, it was the whole damn city.

Nearly four straight days of civil unrest, mass demonstrations, and marches; a predator uprising that had never been seen before in the history of Zootopia. And from the ashes of the wildfire rose activists and civil rights movements that fought for their causes with an unstoppable fervour.

I’d like to say that change happened overnight, but even with all that determination and conviction, it still took them years of slow, arduous fighting within the system to chip away at the roots of Happytown’s problems. But eventually they won, little by little, earning employment protections, eroding anti-pred tenancy practices in the other districts, and ensuring equal pred representation on the police force.

In time, things started to get a bit better. The soft segregation of the city was phasing out. The biome projects went into full swing, giving everyone new options in places to live freely amongst each other. A progressive nouveau riche class grew from the preds who were now thriving without the systemic barriers of yesterday. And when the first civil war in Tundrastan broke out, these new pred industrialists invested in the development of Tundratown and its wall, hoping to give the influx of refugees a fair shake at a new life that those in Happytown were once denied.

It was an experiment. An embarrassment. A mistake.

It was the focal point for a wave of change that shaped what Zootopia has become today.

But what does it amount to on the grand canvas of Zootopia’s history?

How is it remembered today?

 

* * *

 

With a jerk of his head and a jut of his thumb, Seth motioned Carol’s attention over to one of the few lamp posts that weren’t beaten up or stripped for copper wiring. Bolted to its side was a metal plaque, colored black with raised chrome lettering that was partially scuffed and scratched from years of exposure, requiring Carol to lean close to read its message.

_Welcome To Historic Happytown!_

“From whitewash to whitewash,” Seth intoned from behind her. “People forget quickly with a clean coat of paint.”

_Home of the Hercules Hoagie!_

“For the record,” he added, leaning over her shoulder, “I’m not big on beetles or anything, but the best Hercules sandwich is made on Palm Street in Sahara.”


	8. Chapter 8

_“Oh I bin’ down t’ La Luna, ‘cause the sun don’t want me no more._   
_Down in ol’ La Luna, ‘cause I jus’ can’t take no more._   
_Left my lady while she sleepin’._   
_Jus’ can’t take her lies no more.”_

Sitting on a weathered milk-crate in a black wrinkled suit, the old horse sang with a throaty wail as the guitar cradled in his hooves rambled its metallic twang, sharing his gloomy tune with any disinterested mammal that shuffled past him.

_“Slipped out the bedroom window, didn’t want no fight._   
_Packed my suitcase wit’ my sorrow, she never did me right._   
_’Cause if love is like a treasure,_   
_My baby’s heart was locked up tight.”_

_“Crawled into La Luna, found myself a hole._   
_Crawled into a bottle, tried to drown my soul._   
_Head back with the shot glass,_   
_Face first in the toilet bowl--”_

Pausing his song, the horse’s ear twitched at the subtle sound of paper hitting the worn fabric of his guitar case and his eyes peered down from under the shadow of his pigeon pie hat, spotting a trio of crumpled bills laying on top of the assorted bed of loose change.

Curling back his lips into a wide, pearly white grin, he tipped his hat at the little rabbit that beamed back up at him, and croaked “Thank you kindly miss,” before resuming his tale of woe and misery.

Seth could only smirk and shake his head as he watched Carol rush back to him. She looked like a big kid with her childishly toothy smile and the over-sized scarf flapping behind her like a pair of windsocks.

“Wha~at?” Carol asked with a giggle.

“If you keep this up, you won’t have any change left for the subway,” he wryly replied.

Carol’s ears bobbed from side to side as she gave him a dismissive wag of her head. “I have a metro card, you know. Besides,” she added with a playful nudge, “it feels good to give a little. You should try it sometime”

“I-I give plenty…”

“Mm~hm. Anyway, it looks like my stop is coming up.”

Seth looked over in the direction that Carol gestured towards and spotted the rusted green railing of a subway station’s stairwell across the street corner. He had been paying so much attention to her spontaneous acts of charity that he lost track of where they were.

He didn’t exactly want to rush Carol on her way - he was actually having a good time for once - but this ‘impromptu’ encounter of theirs had eaten up a chunk of his limited time to find Otis. He had already accepted that any clues left behind at the outreach center were now lost in the departed crowd, and he would have to start over from a new lead, which meant no distractions.

“Um, Seth, did you hear what I said?”

“Huh?” Blinking, Seth turned to see her giving him a furrowed look.

“I said, maybe I could visit you at the precinct sometime?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, sure. Sure…” Struggling to recompose himself, he could see that the look on her face was getting more and more concerned, and he could almost hear the cogs in her head turning and producing suspicions of his weak-willed reply. “S-sorry, I’m just thinking about this case, and- Yeah, I would like you to visit sometime.”

“Really?”

Seth scratched the back of his neck as he nodded. “Absolutely. My job is pretty dull, so it actually does break up the day a bit to get visitors now and then. Plus, if I’m ever busy, you could always use it as an excuse to catch up with someone else.”

“The… receptionist cheetah?” Carol asked dubiously as her nose scrunched up.

“No… Like Judy.” Only getting a blank stare in return, Seth elaborated further, “Judy Hopps. Famous hero cop, Officer Judy Hopps. Girl you went to high school with, Judy Hopps.”

“Ohhh! That Judy!”

“What- What other Judy would I be talking about?”

“Well, I also went to school with Judy Lopstein, Judy Thumperton, Judy Brerson… You get a lot of repeating names with rabbit families. There were five other Carols in my tenth grade homeroom class.”

“Huh. Did any of them become cops too?”

“I think Carol Flanders works dispatch at the Deerbrook County sheriff’s department…”

“No, I mean- Nevermind. What I’m just trying to say is that Judy saw that stuff you sent me and mentioned you two used to be friends, so I figured maybe you, uh, might want to reconnect.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sure she’s probably too busy for someone to just drop in on her out of the blue, being a ‘hero cop’ and all. Plus, I don’t know if you know this, but some country mammals that move to the city aren’t very comfortable with meeting folks from back home. Makes them embarrassed about their roots. Honestly, I have no problem with running into old friends from The Burrows, but I’m not going to impose on anyone’s new city life after they’ve grown into it.”

Seth almost visibly recoiled at her response. From the way Judy had put it that morning, Carol builds bonds and keeps them - heck, he was getting a bit worried she was going to stick with him all day - but to excuse away reasons to avoid seeing her…

“Carol,” giving her an incredulous look, Seth spoke in a slow and earnest manner, “I’m pretty sure Judy would never do that to you. You probably know her better than I do, but I think we agree that she isn’t that kind of rabbit.”

Carol quietly fidgeted with her scarf and glanced around, avoiding his gaze. “I know. It’s- That’s not really what I mean, it’s just that- Hey, wait a second.” Suddenly she jerked her head towards the subway entrance, squinting her eyes. “Why does it say ‘Pack Station’? I thought we were on Prowl Lane…”

“We are. The intersecting street is Pack Stre--”

“Oh!” Carol practically leapt in the air in surprise, nearly spilling the art tools out of her coat again. “I knew I recognized this area!”

“Oh yeah? A fan of the show?”

“Ehhh,” Carol shrugged and gave a so-so wave of her paw. “I’ve seen a few episodes. Seems like it tries too hard to get by on relationship baiting. Too many ‘will-they, won’t-they’ pairings, you know?”

“I guess,” Seth returned his own noncommittal shrug. “I’m not one for late night dramas. So if you’re not the TV tourist..?”

“Some of the girls from work. You met them last night, remember?”

The image of them was mostly a blur to him, but Seth was at least able to summon the general recollection of the trio being made up of a marmot, weasel, and possum.

Or was it opossum? He always had trouble getting the two right.

Did that make him a specist?

‘Wait,’ he thought, ‘did she just flip the conversation on me? Or is she just that flaky?’

“Anyway,” Carol continued in her off-the-rails train of thought, “they had been bothering me for weeks about going out with them- Well, ‘bothering’ is a strong word. Maybe ‘persistently keen on’ fits better. Still, I felt bad for passing on all the other invitations- Focusing on deadlines, really. So I gave in that time, figuring that it’d be fun to both hang out and also get a feel for ‘real Zootopia’.”

“Uh huh…” A mischievous grin spread on Seth’s muzzle as the realization grew on him. “And when was this?”

Carol seemed to know where Seth was going with that question, as she closed her eyes and sighed before replying. “Earlier this year.”

“So right after the third season, when everyone caught on to how that block was the hippest place to be?”

“Yeeaahh…” Chagrined, Carol sucked her teeth. “All the dive bars and seedy spots we were expecting had been replaced with artisan bistros and craft breweries. They had me going up and down the street five times before I could convince them that the boutique hotel labelled ‘KRWNS by Ivory Estates’ was the same place as the apartment building from the show.”

“What?! Tom Ivory flipped that flophouse?” He wasn’t sure what had him laughing harder; the idea of one of the most infamous tenements in Zootopia being turned into a place with more cocktail bars than rooms for rent, or that he managed to work ‘flip’ and ‘flop’ into a sentence.

“Mm hm,” rubbing her forehead, Carol managed her own small laugh at the memory. “In the end, I managed to talk them into going into one of the few places that still had some local color. It was this trashy comedy club. The kind where the entire exterior and interior is coated in basic black paint, except for the brick wall behind the stage? Had this cheap red and blue neon sign that would just buzz non-stop and flicker erratically.”

“Huh,” Seth sniffed, wiping away a tear from his eye. “I think I know the place. Couple stops down from the library?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Really? Wow.” Genuinely surprised at the news, Seth chuckled as he rubbed his collar. “It’s still open…”

“Well…” Carol cocked her head to the side as she strained her voice in a reticent pitch. “Up until last night....”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Didn’t you hear? It was all over the news.”

Seth just silently shrugged and shook his head.

“There was some sort of freak electrical fire. Nearly burned down half the place.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Happened during a performance. Not sure if it was stage wiring or if the sign finally shorted out, but the footage on ZNN showed that the inside was pretty much gutted. Nobody knows if it’ll--”

Closing her mouth in a frown, Carol let the sentence die there - rather uncharacteristically - as she tilted her head down Pack Street, and then back over to where they had come from.

After a moment of quietly peering past Seth’s shoulder, Carol muttered, “Well that’s weird…”

“W-what is?”

Awkwardly shuffling around to see what she was looking at, Seth examined the concrete horizon, barely grasping what had her bothered, until Carol’s voice wafted from behind him, filling in the blank.

“What’re the chances of two separate buildings burning down around twelve hours and ten blocks apart?”

 

* * *

 

Fires happen every day, that’s why we have the ZFD.

Happytown and Pack Street are old neighborhoods; shoddy wiring and fire-code violations are rampant in these buildings.

It’s just a funny coincidence.

Long after he fed her these excuses and saw her leave on the north-bound train, Seth couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that he was trying to convince himself as much as Carol. And in both cases, doing a bad job of it.

Coincidence.

On the surface, it felt like there was a lot of that going around today, but when he dug deeper into the details, he was finding there was very little evidence of it.

Connecting Otis to places like Shu Li’s liquor store or the outreach center wasn’t a coincidence; it was deliberate police work.

Encountering Carol wasn’t a coincidence; she deliberately followed him out here.

So what was left to chalk up to coincidence?

Otis being spotted at the scene of a fire moments after it happened and less than an hour after Seth was there?

Another building - little more than a moderate jog away - nearly burning down just last night?

Coincidences?

And didn’t Detective Atkins say they were already looking at an alleged arson on Grass Street? That was only just a few more subway stops from here.

Coincidence?

Maybe.

Or maybe something more than that.

Back when he was still a bartender, there were some local students who would drop in from time to time to get a beer or a stiff drink to shake off the edge of exams and term papers. Some of them would even bring in their assigned reading materials, trying to look like young bohemian intellectuals as they sipped their bottom shelf wine.

One time there was a regular, a quoll everyone knew as Deejay, and he was reading something that caught Seth’s eye with its tattered matte black dust jacket and singular title imprinted on the front in a basic white embossed lettering.

The meaning of the title made little sense to him. So, while wiping down a nearby table that was sticky with dried beer, he asked Deejay for a layman’s explanation.

“It’s the theory that some unrelated events have an underlying connection or purpose. Meaningful coincidences.”

Synchronicity.

His dad or Father Sekakwa probably would have preferred to call it something else - something older - like Divine Providence. But regardless of it being postmodern pseudo-science or theological belief, there was a very real, very tangible gut feeling deep inside Seth that told him that this was something worth pursuing.

If nothing else, there was no reason to go back to the outreach center. It was a sandcastle at high tide; washed away without evidence. Every clue or hint of Otis that may have been there was trampled or kicked aside by the ZFD and the crowd of spectators after they had departed.

He had nothing left but his instinct and a fleeting faith in synchronicity to help him pick his next move on the chessboard.

His gambit was made.

His decision was set.

And as he ascended the steps of the subway station, heading off towards Pack Street, there was only one thought of doubt in his mind.

Was he still a cop, or some kind of holistic detective?

 

* * *

 

It was like it was frozen in time. That is, if you overlooked the plywood boards that covered the solitary window and the bits of purple pulverized stained glass that peppered the sidewalk like fresh hail after a storm. Beyond that all that, the exterior of the club was exactly as Seth remembered it. Right down to the tacky black paint that was slathered over the brick wall, giving it the appearance of a giant, two-story tall licorice candy; the kind that Old Miss Mishka would fruitlessly offer him from a cherrywood bowl when he was a kid.

He used to be afraid of getting stuck to that mound of unwanted candy if he ever touched it, and the building brought back those same concerns as his paw gingerly brushed a spot where the paint had gone soft like tar and sagged down the wall; still tender from the heat of last night.

Tracing his claws around the shallow groves of the trashy brickwork, Seth absent-mindedly allowed his paw to weave here and there between the alternating rows like a bike courier in a traffic jam; calmly listening to the light crunch of glass under his shoes as he inched towards the club’s entrance.

The rusted old lamp that hung over the doorway was unlit, depriving the spot of its alluring glow that would bask the bouncer out front in an ominous beam of light.

Who was it running the door when he was last here?

A rhino? A hippo?

Seth could barely recall which it was; only that it was one of the biggest prey the owners could find. Picked for the purpose of not playing favorites to the locals.

Tonight the door was unattended. In fact, there didn’t seem to be a door at all, just an empty gap in the wall that led into darkness, like an empty socket left behind by a missing tooth.

Maybe it was a hippo. He seemed to recall a hippo missing a tooth somewhere in the haze of yesteryear.

The only barrier between the street and the void was a series of loosely criss-crossed police-tape; plastic yellow cobwebs that hung sloppily from side to side of the doorframe. It was poor work by any cop’s standards as the tape had enough slack in it to allow even a bear or two to slip inside without issue, but Seth couldn’t complain much, given that he wasn’t exactly letting it stop him either.

Ducking through the ropey tape, Seth stepped past the threshold and into the short, dark hallway that led into the club’s main floor. Despite the sun still being up outside, the hall managed to be quite dark and hard to see in, requiring him to pull out his phone and turn on its torch function. Once bathed in the bright light of the camera flash, he could see that the flames had mostly spared the small passage, as its black walls were still lined with dozens and dozens of haphazardly taped and stapled posters, postcards, and flyers that advertised the many comedians and events they hosted; each untouched and unmarked by burns or singes.

Further inside, however, was a different story.

It felt like stepping into a cave that stunk of burnt charcoal and wet, mildewy wood. The smell wasn’t particularly overpowering, but it still seeped into every inch of the place, hanging in the air like a perpetual aftertaste.

Tables and chairs were knocked around and laying in pieces; either collapsed under the destruction of the flames or stampeded by the terrified patrons that had fled in panic. From above, hung charred ceiling tiles and melted cables that dangled about like the leaves and vines of the Rainforest District.

The bar that sat against the front wall looked like a bomb had gone off, with bottles and glasses smashed up all over it like shrapnel and the countertop caved in through the middle. Behind the bar were the rest of the remains of the purple stained glass window and the backside of the plywood boards. Given the damage and the crater in the bar, it was likely that when everyone was fleeing the fire and the exit started to bottleneck, some of the guests panicked and made a new escape route out of the window.

Carol wasn’t kidding when she said it was gutted.

The stage seemed to fare a bit better than the rest, for the most part. The flooring of it was burnt and badly damaged, and where there was once a cheap red curtain that framed the stage, there was now only some tattered threads and a discoloured arch of dark scorch marks. But the naked brick wall that backed the stage and the door that led to the green room looked as pristine as when he last saw it.

“A hippo,” Seth muttered aloud. “Definitely a hippo…”

Only he wasn’t the bouncer, he was the entertainer of the night. Some burnt out cynic of a comic from Sahara Square; the kind that tells long, rambling stories about a girlfriend they can’t stand who says or does something stupid and his apathetic mugging to the audience is the only punch line to it.

The routine was so mirthless that it even had Georg heckling him, and Yorgi rapidly advancing into outright drunken threats and angry growls of how his late dedushka could tell a better joke with his tongue cut out.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Yorgi to get the three of them kicked out over his outbursts, but looking back on it, there was something particularly odd about how this place was probably the only one where he could recall seeing his wolven brother sobering up and accepting their expulsion without making a further scene or starting a fight.

But even with the image of Yorgi’s uncommon act of low-tailed discretion, Seth still couldn’t put his finger on what sort of prey the bouncer was.

It really wasn’t an important detail, but since he was already feeling overwhelmed, standing in the middle of this place with little light and no idea where to start looking, inconsequential things like that had their way of needling at him.

“Just need some more light in here…”

He was, after all, a nocturnal animal by nature, but there were still things he had trouble picking out in the dark. So upon spotting a light switch panel near the stage, he grabbed one of the few stools by the bar that still looked stable and carried it over to the switches.

Turning things on the day after an electrical fire was probably one of the more reckless ideas he could have had, but he had been around enough malfunctioning outlets and lights as a kit that he was pretty comfortable playing chicken with electricity.

The first switch did nothing. Not even a spark. And neither did the second, third or fourth. But with the fifth switch, a warm and cold glow of neon light sprung to life from the wall beside the stage, illuminating the club’s name in blue and red.

_Comics Anonymous._

Just as he remembered it. Just as Carol described it. Flickering and buzzing like an electric honeybee. The last sign of life in this whole place.

It was strangely entrancing in its cheap gaudiness; a beacon of sleaze parroting class. Few places, save for the divey-est of dives, had fixtures like this anymore.

In a weird way, it was kind of beautiful in its archaic rarity.

That is, up until it gave one big, prolonged, pulsating blink, followed by a loud pop of glass, leaving the ‘s’ and ‘ymous’ in the name permanently burnt out.

Still gritting his teeth over the fear that the sign would suddenly start a new fire, Seth quickly switched it off and had barely dismounted the stool when a noise came from behind the green room door.

Footsteps and the rattling of the doorknob.

He was not alone.

‘Shit,’ Seth cursed internally, with his paws clapped over his snout.

He wasn’t supposed to be in here, and police uniform or not, if he ran into security or anyone else here, he could find himself in deep trouble with Bogo.

Skipping off the bottom rung of the stool, Seth ran across the floor on all fours, heading straight towards the closest door that stood ajar - marked as the manager’s office - and slipped inside.

Keeping an ear up to listen in on the new arrival, he carefully leaned over the edge of the door, spying into the room with a single eye.

There was some low grunting as something large walked across the stage and dropped down onto the main floor with a heavy thump. The sound of debris being shoved aside and kicked over grew louder and louder as the unseen mammal moved ever closer into view.

And once it stepped into Seth’s line of sight and its silhouette took shape in the dull darkness, he felt a lump swell up in his throat that practically choked him as he forced it down in a painful gulp.

He just remembered.

The club didn’t have a prey bouncer that night. That was the shot bar they went to afterwards.

The guy running the door that night was a bear.

A polar bear.

Just like the one standing before him, dressed in a dark three-piece suit.

‘Okay, this is bad,’ Seth thought, stepping back from the door. ‘I gotta figure a way out of here without getting spotted by--’

His train of thought was cut short by the unexpected feeling of bumping his shoulders into something large and heavy.

And furry…

Eyes wide, Seth also just remembered something more recent.

The police-tape on the door.

He had thought that it looked loose enough for a bear.

Or two.

A gust of hot breath puffed down his neck as a low, baritone voice rumbled from above.

“Zdraste.”


End file.
